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The fan - Hunter Davies meets Rio, Wayne and the Doc
Published 20 February 2006
For football stars, writing a book is easy. It's promoting it that's the killer
Did the young Mozart get a five-book deal for £5m when he was only 20? Course not. He was just a run-of-the-mill genius. Didn't even play away games till he was six. Or Shakespeare? No chance. He was still hanging around the back alleys on his council estate in Stratford-upon-Avon, though he had met and married Anne Hathaway by then - without getting a penny from Hello! for the wedding. Backward or what?
Wayne Rooney, he's the boys. HarperCollins is reported to be paying him £1m a shot for five books. He has had a long and amazing life. You couldn't get it all into just one book.
But it will be hard work. From my own experience of celeb biographies, I would say for the first book he should allow three hours a day talking to his ghost writer, for six days, preferably spread over six months. That should do for the words, which he never need read.
The really knackering bit, Wayne, is to come. I dare say you haven't read the small print, but I reckon you'll have to spend twice as much time on personal appearances. Let's say five days of bookshop signings in London and the provinces; five days doing Richard and Judy, TV and radio stuff; then four days behind the scenes, glad-handing the trade. It will be written into the contract, the exact number of days, and this is what will sell the book. I'd rather be tackled by Robbie Savage.
If you sign till your right hand falls off, smile till your teeth ache, then your publisher should get its first million back in six months - £250,000 to £500,000 for the serial rights, plus the profits on 300,000 hardback copies sold.
I've just been to Headline's sales conference, held at an utterly swish hotel near Marlow where about 80 people stayed overnight in total luxury, then had a slap-up dinner. Limousines took the authors back and forth. Everything was on the house. We even got going-away presents.
There were three famous football persons present, whose books Headline is publishing. (Plus moi, as I have my memoirs out in August, but this is not a plug, certainly not, just to explain why I was there.)
Rio Ferdinand arrived bang on time, despite having played for Man United the night before and been sent off. Gazza was there, despite having just flown in from a clinic in Arizona, and being about to go off to Dubai. It's in their contract, see. Tommy Docherty was the third famous name, but he appears to spend his time doing after-dinner stuff, so it probably wasn't such a fag for him.
As authors, what we had to do was charm the buggers, I mean buyers, from W H Smith, Tesco and co, the serial rights persons from the Daily Mail and Sunday Times - all the people who can make or break our books.
In the old days, say 40 years ago, when I had my first book out, sales conferences were chaotic, held in smoke-filled back rooms. Authors were shuffled in, given ten minutes to talk about their book, a sandwich, and then shoved out. Now it's so streamlined and classy, with cutting-edge videos giving the book info while you tuck in to a six-course banquet. Authors, especially celeb authors, don't have to talk or do any work any more. Just be there.
At this time of the year, thirtysomething lads and lasses from W H Smith, probably on piddling wages, get besieged by the whole of Bloomsbury, desperate for their presence.
On this occasion, the three football stars, at a little champagne party beforehand, did get up and say a few words - and each was excellent. They spoke fluently, without notes, made little jokes, were nice and humble, said how hard they would work promoting their book. Gazza said it was his third visit to the American clinic. He now gets a discount.
Tommy Docherty told how he was in a posh hotel once with Gazza when the waiter came up and said to Gazza: "Do you like scampi, sir?" Gazza replied: "I like all Walt Disney films."
Gazza roared, genuinely, as the story was new to him. So Wayne, that's what you'll have to do. Smile for England . . .
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