The Word Cloud

The thing about Brooklands Museum is you tend to have to know it’s there in order to find it at all. You follow the sign for Brooklands off the last roundabout and find yourself on a road that appears to be heading straight into the Mercedes-Benz complex, as indeed it is. You continue on the road, avoiding any visitors’ car park entrances because you know you don’t want a Mercs and it takes you right round to the back of the complex to the staff car park. Not a word about Brooklands. Dauntless you carry on past the car park on an unmarked road by a canal and round a bend, lo and behold, you see Parking for Brooklands. But you’d have given up long ago if you hadn’t know it was there.

The park is very full and you have to drive a long way past the entrance to find a space. At least its free, you think, as you trudge back to the footbridge over the canal and approach the ticket office.

Aha… You notice the poster in the window about a book-signing today in ‘The Paddock’. You get your ticket, and a site plan and try to figure out the way to The Paddock, noting, conveniently, that the route takes you past the toilets. You make an unscheduled pit-stop and emerge feeling much relieved and head off past a row of garages, or Racing Lock-ups as the site plan calls them, marked Dunlop, Jackson, Shell and BP. Round the corner past the side of The Clubhouse and turn left and you get your first site a blonde vision behind a table laden with paperbacks and all sorts of Bothersome paraphernalia relating to Bermeon.

It can be none other than SecretSpi, Susan Patricia Imgrund – or S. P. Moss as it says on the book cover, and you wonder idly, as you look around at all the old racing cars in the paddock, if the S doesn’t stand for Stirling. You wait for a lull in the mad rush to buy her book – well, you hang about for a few moments while she finishes talking to someone who was passing by, and then your eyes meet, your faces break into silly grins and you both lean across the table to embrace like old friends being re-united, which in a way you are, except there’s no ‘re-’. It’s the first time you’ve met, yet you feel like old friends. It’s an experience you will repeat on many occasions throughout the day. (You don’t mean embracing Secrets, but meeting other ‘old friends’ for the first time.)

You look around and spot the man in the fedora. Got to be AlanP. And the one with the long blonde hair that he’s chatting up? None other than John Taylor (whom you’ve already met a few times, as John Onceupon. This acquaintance is renewed and you are introduced to Alan – and there’s the Pimlico Kid, alias Barry Walsh, looking as suave as his old alias would suggest.

Over the next hour or so you meet again your old pals Whisks and later, Steve, as well as finally getting up close and personal with Heidi from Andorra, Kaz from Kingston, CJ from Portsmouth (Elysia, in a previous incarnation), Athlestone with his lovely Florence, and Mike from a library somewhere in darkest London. You are told that Noodledoodle is also among those present, but is proving rather elusive. You realise later that, with three young Noodles to entertain, she has been touring the whole complex making the most of her visit. You finally run her to earth standing in the queue for a ride round the famous old banked race-track in a vintage, souped-up racer, and have a good old chin wag.

The queue for the vintage rides is conveniently close to Secret’s book-signing table, so not only are many attracted over to view the book while their place in the queue is kept for them, but even when they don’t come over there always looks like a good crowd milling around the area, which is good for business. SecretSpi tells you that she’s selling quite a few and you make that quit a few and one, asking her to sign your copy to your two eldest grandchildren who meet the age criteria perfectly.

During a lull in proceedings, while some others have taken a lead from Noodledoodle’s initiative and gone exploring, you suggest to CJ that you might follow suit. The two of you wander off in the direction of the Wellington Hangar, which is full of the most amazing early (allegedly) flying contraptions as well as later models such as a Wellington bomber that was rescued from Loch Ness, and Barnes Wallace’s ‘dam buster’ bombs.

Emerging from the far end of the hangar, CJ is saying to you, ‘My father used to be a fireman.’ A perfect stranger, who you happen to be passing at this moment, says, ‘Pardon?’ and you bemusedly stop to explain that CJ was talking to you. It emerges that the stranger had already summed up CJ as being your daughter and as she had said, ‘My father used to be a fireman,’ he had to assume that she must be talking to him! Just the sort of bizarre casual remark you make to strangers that you pass in an aviation and motor museum (apparently).

You wander on, learning as you go, how CJ’s actual father managed the transition from driving fire engines to private cars. Not very well, it would seem. You inspect the various old aircraft scattered around like life-size discarded Airfix models on a giant child’s bedroom floor. You climb the steps to board the Sultan of Oman’s (ex-) private Boeing 707 with luxury bathroom (gold basin and taps removed for safe keeping elsewhere), sleeping quarters with double bed complete with safety belt, lounge area with padded armchairs, television, telephone and stereo and a cockpit with more dials and switches than you could shake gold-plated swagger stick at.

Back at The Paddock, book sales seem to be still progressing apace and it’s time to sustain the inner man. You, CJ and three or four others pop across to the Sunbeam Café for a spot of lunch. You go for the baked potato with butter, baked beans, and brie. (It’s actually cheddar, but you go for the alliterative effect – always the writer.) With the others, you take your tray back outside to lunch alfresco in the sunshine at the picnic tables just next to where SecretSpi is developing repetitive strain injury as she continues to sign her books.

Of course it is now that the sky clouds over and when you’re only three-quarters way through your meal the rain drops are falling on your head. SecretSpi and her helpers quickly gather everything together and carry their table over to the covered entrance to the Sunbeam Café while you and a few others brave the inclement conditions rather than foregoing the remainder of your lunch. The drizzle never amounts to much at all and before long SecretSpi is set up again in the sunshine. You and several others remark what a great day it really is for the occasion.

Betwixt and between all this you are snapping away at this and that with your camera, recording it all for posterity, and SecretSpi’s publisher, Kay Green, asks if you can let her have copies, while Cloudies ask if you can capture them risking their lives in a racer – for next of kin, you suppose, if the worst were to happen. Chatting with John and Steve, they plant an idea and, with Steve’s help, you spend some further time around the museum site photographing “The Bother in Burmeon” in divers, if unlikely, positions – on the under-carriage of Concord, in the air intake of a Hawker Hunter, on the bonnet of a 1930s Austin MG and so on. It just seems to you like a good idea at the time.

But time wears on. Some clouds are again starting to drift across the sky and some Cloudies are starting to drift off homewards. The signing table is back under cover to be on the safe side and you make your way over for a final chat with S. P. Moss, the heroine of the hour, who has remained valiantly smiling throughout; a sterling effort. ( A Stirling effort you think, facetiously?) You take your leave, as you have been doing with various others, with a ready hope of renewing acquaintances at other such occasions. You wish SecretSpi all the best and hope she’ll soon be able to relax a bit. Her smile never wavers.

You meander back the way you came, bumping into Mike once more and offering him a lift to Weybridge station to catch his train, and Mike being Mike is perfectly happy to walk. So with a final farewell, you leave the museum and a plethora of happy memories and a general feeling of bonhomie towards The WordCloud, all Cloudies everywhere and to SecretSpi in particular. You glance at her name on the book you are carrying and wonder, just fleetingly, if she could be the secret love-child of a racing driver.

   Well.  If I'm honest, I'm still not too sure what happened last night.  Somewhat bizarrely all of these things seemed to happen which I was pretty convinced yesterday morning would be impossible.  The space was full; I didn't have a complete meltdown; people seemed genuinely engaged and many volunteered questions (some even queued up for signed books- I need to come up with a better autograph than just writing my name!) And on top of this I was able to cope (mostly) with seeing some members of my family and a couple of old friends who I hadn't seen since having my breakdown in 2007.

   It was, of course, a nerve-wracking experience but far more so in the anticipation as opposed to the act of delivery.  Adrenalin seems to just kick in and carry you over that line.  From this experience, I would say that anyone planning any future launch and feeling trepidation, I would wholeheartedly recommend the interview format.  In my case, I had a great person and character who was able to combine being MC, Paxman-esque interviewer and translator all at once and seemlessly which helped to put me far more at ease than if I was up on stage alone (a vision which doesn't bear thinking about.) 

   I'd like to send out a huge thank you to Debi (the "roving reporter" as johnonceupon referred to her on the other thread.)  For her to make the effort to come to my launch when her and I had only just exchanged messages for the first time a few days ago was something very special.  She also asked me a fiendish question- putting me on the spot to reveal if I could see myself ever writing another book.  I think I managed to give a long, vague, rambling answer in the style of a modern-day politician and left everyone none-the-wiser (largely because I haven't a clue myself.)  Thank you Debi also for your excellent advice about leaving out any plot-spoilers from my readings and your kind remarks post-event which I 've read just now.  I also want to say I've been quite overwhelmed by the generosity and kind wishes of so many on this community (which I think is exactly the right word for this site.)  We alll share a similar passion and a similar goal on this site but it's great that we also share in each other's journeys along the way. 

   There were some people who came up to me after the talk to speak to me personally, many whom I had never met or had any previous connection with.  Two were people who had had horrible experiences of both mental illness and of the mental health system both of whom said that my little talk had helped them in some way.  Another person was a psychotherapist who was quite emotional when she told me that things that I'd said gave her the confidence and validation to continue her "off-piste" methods and not to subscribe to the "one-size-fits-all" approach that is pushed by the powers that be.  These encounters alone have convinced me that going for publication and agreeing to a launch were indeed the right decisions in spite of the accompanying difficulties.

    Thank you again to all Cloud-dwellers for your fantastic support.

Greetings fellow Cloud-dwellers,

      I just wanted to let primarily London-based members (a bit more of a trek for others but of course all are welcome) know that the launch of my debut novel, Sisyphusa, will be taking place in South London on Tuesday evening.  Anyone is welcome and the event is free but the owners of the book shop recommend reserving a spot as places are limited.  It's at Woolfson & Tay book shop in Bermondsey Square.  I am going to be interviewed and in discussion with writer Christopher Somerville and I will also give readings from the book and answer questions from the audience. 

     For more information check it out in the events section of the Cloud or visit the bookshop's website at www.woolfsonandtay.com/michael-richmond.html

Like Frankenstein's Monster, it rises from the cold slab. Of my hard drive. Then it eats my brains and wrecks the joint.
No! Wrong movie, sorry.
This one is about a soon-to-be-successful writer and the project which is his pride and joy.

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls; dogs, cats, guinea pigs and at least one person who has a profile picture of a walrus; my book, 'THAT BEAR ATE MY PANTS!' is finally available for public consumption*

*Do NOT attempt to eat this book. A Kindle may look tasty, but it has small bits which will get up your nose. Tony James Slater cannot be held responsible for injuries sustained in such a manner.

Anyone thinking of buying it, please go here: http://amzn.to/thatbear
(You may have to cut n' paste - I still can't figure out how to make a link.)
You have my deepest, most sincere thanks.

Anyone not thinking of buying it, thank-you anyway. But think hard - you've got all day to change your mind. Tony still loves ya baby!

And here is a picture of the front cover, to tantalize your taste-buds further. But please see above for rules about not eating it. Food for thought...

 

Hey folks! Well, here we are again... or here I am. I've slept for nearly two whole hours since my last posting. Man, this launch stuff is brutal. Bloody hell, what a pansy I am! Brutal... better not tell that to an Iraqi war veteran or a firefighter...
Anyway, the point is I'm knackered. I thought I'd nip on to say a quick Hi! to y'all, and to post a link to my blog about the Pre-Launch Process. No, it's not an informative, useful guide for anyone looking to do the same. You may have noticed, my writing mostly centers around me screwing things up royally. Couldn't disappoint my regulars now could I? Either of them.
So here it is, a brief description of the scene in my house at Launch Minus Forty-Eight Hours And Counting... come to think of it, that would have made a damn good title for this post. Bugger.
Enjoy!

 http://AdventureWithoutEnd.com/2011/06/29/the-pre-launch-process/