Dead Line
Deadline, [ded-lahyn], noun - origin 1855-1860
1. The time by which something must be finished or submitted; the latest time for finishing something: a five o'clock deadline
2. a boundary around a military prison beyond which a prisoner could not venture without risk of being shot by the guards
Of the two dictionary definitions above, I am infinitely more familiar with the first. After all, the whole book industry seems to anchor itself around deadlines of one sort or the other, some real, others imaginary. The more tangible are often firmly inked into contracts - "Book X, a manuscript copy of which is to be submitted no later than to be submitted no later than such and such a date ..."
The problem is that deadlines like this never travel alone. They gather up into their skirts a dark host of shadow deadlines who hang tenaciously from the original like ivy from a tree. Dates by which titles have to be agreed, cover designs approved, editorial comments addressed, copy and proof editing completed. Each as real as they one sealed with a handshake and a cheque, but never actually agreed upon or even discussed until they are almost upon you and it is too late to do anything but meet them with clenched teeth and a mumbled curse.
And yet it is the second, more unfamiliar definition detailed above, with its hint of possible death and disaster, that resonates more with me at the moment. Perhaps this will explain why:
HARROGATE CRIME WRITING FESTIVAL
DAPHNE DU MAURIER CENTENARY PANEL - 20 July (6pm)
CHAIR: Margaret Kinsman
PANEL: Kate Saunders, Philip Gooden, Laura Wilson, James Twining
The problem? Just the small matter of me having barely read a single book of hers yet, whilst my fellow panelists seem to have been swotting up for months! (See Mild and Bitter). I've basically got five days to consume and digest the collected life and works of Daphne du Maurier before offering myself up to a sharp-toothed pack of DdM anoraks and assorted crime officianados and hoping they're on a diet and let me off with a gentle mauling. If ever a deadline carried with it the promise of utter humiliation and disaster in front of a gathered host of critics, book lovers and fellow writers, then this, surely, must be it.
As if this wasn't bad enough, the issue has been compounded by the fact that what I've read so far hasn't exactly, how should I put this, moved me. In other words, I've not got much to say and what I do have to say isn't that complementary, although I'm reserving final judgement until I've got a few more miles under the hood.
As the thought of the next five days looms over me, I find myself longing for the warm comfort of the prison camp and the original dead-line as described in the second definition above. At least there I could choose to make a run for it and get shot into the bargain!
PS - if you fancy coming and throwing a few rotten eggs, there are still some tickets available! Click here.
1. The time by which something must be finished or submitted; the latest time for finishing something: a five o'clock deadline
2. a boundary around a military prison beyond which a prisoner could not venture without risk of being shot by the guards
Of the two dictionary definitions above, I am infinitely more familiar with the first. After all, the whole book industry seems to anchor itself around deadlines of one sort or the other, some real, others imaginary. The more tangible are often firmly inked into contracts - "Book X, a manuscript copy of which is to be submitted no later than to be submitted no later than such and such a date ..."
The problem is that deadlines like this never travel alone. They gather up into their skirts a dark host of shadow deadlines who hang tenaciously from the original like ivy from a tree. Dates by which titles have to be agreed, cover designs approved, editorial comments addressed, copy and proof editing completed. Each as real as they one sealed with a handshake and a cheque, but never actually agreed upon or even discussed until they are almost upon you and it is too late to do anything but meet them with clenched teeth and a mumbled curse.
And yet it is the second, more unfamiliar definition detailed above, with its hint of possible death and disaster, that resonates more with me at the moment. Perhaps this will explain why:
HARROGATE CRIME WRITING FESTIVAL
DAPHNE DU MAURIER CENTENARY PANEL - 20 July (6pm)
CHAIR: Margaret Kinsman
PANEL: Kate Saunders, Philip Gooden, Laura Wilson, James Twining
The problem? Just the small matter of me having barely read a single book of hers yet, whilst my fellow panelists seem to have been swotting up for months! (See Mild and Bitter). I've basically got five days to consume and digest the collected life and works of Daphne du Maurier before offering myself up to a sharp-toothed pack of DdM anoraks and assorted crime officianados and hoping they're on a diet and let me off with a gentle mauling. If ever a deadline carried with it the promise of utter humiliation and disaster in front of a gathered host of critics, book lovers and fellow writers, then this, surely, must be it.
As if this wasn't bad enough, the issue has been compounded by the fact that what I've read so far hasn't exactly, how should I put this, moved me. In other words, I've not got much to say and what I do have to say isn't that complementary, although I'm reserving final judgement until I've got a few more miles under the hood.
As the thought of the next five days looms over me, I find myself longing for the warm comfort of the prison camp and the original dead-line as described in the second definition above. At least there I could choose to make a run for it and get shot into the bargain!
PS - if you fancy coming and throwing a few rotten eggs, there are still some tickets available! Click here.
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