It had all seemed so safe: a summer’s day, each contentedly bobbing about in water up to their necks. Thriller writer Albert Leighton floated with crime writer Di Glover. Jack Marks swam romantically with Lucy Walker: both wrote erotic fiction.
Suddenly, a scream – “Sharks!”
Sure enough, a fast-moving shoal of agents, cover-designers, printers, editors and marketing experts hurtled towards them. The writers tried escaping but were no match for the predators. At the final count, Jack and Lucy had lost an arm and a leg each to the marketeers, while Di and Albert had each had £500 amputated by agents.
Suddenly, a scream – “Sharks!”
Sure enough, a fast-moving shoal of agents, cover-designers, printers, editors and marketing experts hurtled towards them. The writers tried escaping but were no match for the predators. At the final count, Jack and Lucy had lost an arm and a leg each to the marketeers, while Di and Albert had each had £500 amputated by agents.
