It's not commercially viable

MD Jon give his half-year update ...

By chance, I found myself discussing some book ideas and I used the phrase: ‘it’s not commercially viable’, regarding publishing a memoir. Not ‘it’s crap’, which is more my style, but 'it’s not commercially viable'.

At Vertebrate, we have published a lot of narratives, biographies, autobiographies and memoirs over the years. A lot of stories. It may come as a surprise to you that quite a few of them just haven’t sold that well. Some books that you’d expect to be major blockbusters like Winter 8000 never made it out of its first run of hardbacks, though it's one of the funniest books I’ve ever read and certainly the easiest mountain book to read. Peaks and Bandits has only very modest sales too – and Broken, one of the first running books we ever published, is simply brilliant, but rarely sells now and And So I Run, the latest running book we have published, is yet to get up to pace.

In the past, we published books we liked. It was simple; we published books we thought needed to be published and we didn’t think too much about the numbers. Our first book, Peak District Mountain Biking,was published for no other reason than we wanted a modern guide to the Peak. Likewise, we published that series of climbing biographies: Jerry Moffatt’s Revelations, Ron Fawcett’s Rock Athlete, Nick Bullock’s Echoes and Andy Pollitt’s Punk in the Gym because those stories were otherwise  going to be forgotten. Last year was the centenary of Mallory and Irvine getting famous. This year it’s fifty years since Doug and Dougal invented wild camping. All these summits are celebrated but no one was talking about the climbers – local climbers you’d see at the wall or down the pub, putting up world-class routes on crags you and I can climb on today.

So, yes, because apparently I’m a grown up and I now have to stand on my own two feet, we have to use words like 'commercially viable' every few minutes in a commissioning meeting, and we have to let down, admittedly, most of the submissions that come our way. But, and this is my point, so hang in for this sentence, then you can go: sometimes a story, a version of events, someone’s thoughts, efforts or battles deserves telling. I was going to say I’m proud to put our Vertebrate Publishing badge on them, but what I’ll say is I’m honoured we are entrusted with these stories.

So, what of these stories? I’ve made my point now so here comes the infomercial bit of the blog:

I’m heading up to see Chris Bonington this week to present to him his new book Everest the Hard Way. I have three early memories of Chris from before I knew him and became his friend and publisher. The first was my dad taking me to see his annual lectures, the second was probably my first ice climb – Central Gully on Great End and Chris just steaming up past us, soloing with a mate – and, thirdly, the librarian at my school telling me I could just keep their copy of Everest the Hard Way as I had loaned it out pretty much back to back since it had come in.

I cannot begin to tell you what it means to me to publish this fiftieth anniversary edition of one of the most important mountain books ever to be published in the UK. Everest the Hard Way (50th anniversary edition) will be officially published on 24 September, exactly fifty years after Doug Scott and Dougal Haston summited, and copies are available now for website customers.

I guess the second most influential book from my own climbing journey has to be Extreme Rock. My sister bought it for my twenty-first and it defined the next decade of my climbing. It opened a door into a world I’ve lived in ever since. Paul Pritchard refers to parts of his climbing as a transcendence, poetry. I feel Extreme Rock did that for me. It took me on a journey – where I found thrills, yes, but also friendships, confidence, self-awareness and inspiration. I guess as an adult it was my first experience of love. I’ve all but hung up my trad boots, but maybe, just maybe, there are a couple of routes left in me. This new edition, and its new routes, whole new areas, new essays, old essays, original photos, stunning new imagery will also be back from the printers in late September.

In another recent conversation (beware, I have just been recorded for a podcast) I was talking about guidebook writing and how the voice of the author and their interpretation of a route is so important in turning a collection of directions and maps into something that can inspire adventure. Alfred Wainwright did it and I think Karen and Dan Parker have followed that up with their Peak Bagging Wainwrights guide, and I believe Nic Hardy has also achieved that with her new Peak Bagging Munros guide. Picking a guidebook author is so important, and I hope that after warming Anna Paxton up on a couple of Day Walks books her forthcoming Peak Bagging Peak District book will follow on from the Wainwrights and the Munros and truly celebrate our local hills.

One of the most successful books of the last few years for us has been Toes in the Water, which was expertly edited by Rachel Jones, a collection of swimmers’ stories about why they swim, and what it means to them. It’s not an athlete book, like so many of our narratives, it's a book celebrating life, and how swimming, for many, can help give meaning to their lives. This book has been the inspiration for our next book – due out this autumn on a similar theme – edited by Jo Moseley, Adventures on the Water. The book is about the stand-up paddleboarding community and the things they get up to.

And so, inspired as I have always been about the work I do, and always, always, appreciative when we sell a book, and mindful (often scared) about the responsibility we have to preserve and serve up those outdoor stories, I’ll leave you with some lines from And So I Run. Jamie Doward is a superb writer and he really captures that idea that Allie Bailey bangs on about so much, that running won’t save you, only you will save you. But I guess for Jamie, and for me and for you, whether it’s climbing or swimming or running or riding your bike or bagging a couple of summits, it does mean something to our self. Something we can work with.

‘Because I’m starting to appreciate that running is not one long journey to the sunlit uplands, as the article may have insinuated. Not for me, anyway. Sometimes it takes me down to the sewers. When you are training for marathons, you spend a lot of time with only yourself for company. It’s then that you become aware of your limitations, of what you can achieve, of how finely your effort and reward ratios are calibrated, about how much you will get out for what you have put in. And in doing so, you come to understand the truth of yourself, your strengths and your weaknesses.’ 

 –Jamie Doward, And So I Run

While I may not be commercially viable when I’m out faffing around in the hills, at least something has got me there and, in my clumsy way, I’m happy to try to share that.