Bluesphinx

 The ‘phone rang at precicely seven o’clock on the evening of Christmas eve. The American voice on the other end was that of my design consultant, a charming young lady by the name of Amanda. I was impressed by her punctuality.

 After the mutual introductions had been dealt with we got down to the business of discussing Windfall of the Wise. Our conversation centered on my ideas for the cover design of the book, and we agreed upon a…no, not yet, I’ll let you in on those details after I have seen the proof copy, and then only when I am happy with it.

 We also went over the size of the book, the font style, and a rough idea as to how long the process will take until it is out ‘on the bookshelves’. Best case scenario, about six weeks, this is providing that all proof copies are acceptable to me, and no alterations have to be made. Worst case scenario-how long is apiece of string?

 We finished talking after about half an hour, and Amanda left me with the thought that in two to three weeks I will be presented with the first proof copy of the book’s cover to either accept or reject.

 So, you see, things are moving forward rather nicely. There will be further updates as I walk this publishing road.

  Well, another Christmas has bitten the dust! It went well, the presents were opened, appriciated and enjoyed with gratitude, as friends and family benevolently descended upon us, and enjoyed good food, good drinks, and good times, but the best thing of all for me was to discover that I am not alone.

  What do I mean by this?

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 ”All we had in our stockings was an orange and a piece of coal ‘for luck’!”

  So proclaims anyone of a certain age who suck on boiled sweets and are always going on about “The war.”

  Well although I would feel a little hard done by if faced by such niggardly frugality, I cannot for the life of me get my head around the incessant marketing hype and expensive present buying, one-upmanship that pervades today’s ‘Festive Season’.

  Nowadays, the combined forces of pester power and the advertising hucksters and cheap-jacks start weaving their web around early September, when the first Christmas  adverts start drilling their message of “Buy, buy, buy! Spend! Spend! Spend!…Do it NOW! Can’t afford it? No problem! You can have everything now and pay for it all later. When?…Don’t worry about that now, just buy and enjoy a bit of retail therapy-go on…you know you want to!” It permeates deep into your brain, and gradually cranks up the pressure by degrees until Christmas Eve, when the Easter marketing machine clicks into gear!

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  It was whilst delivering newspapers one bright sunny morning that I stumbled upon an unfolding drama that sowed the seed that would eventually shape my life.

 I was aged about fourteen, which brings the date to sometime during the spring of 1972. I had got about half way through my morning paper round, and was happily depositing the daily news through the letterboxes of the residents of Swansea Road when something in the corner of my eye made me look up over the roofs of the houses in the adjacent streets.

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  Well folks, progress, though slow, is moving forward on my book project. Today I received a short e-mail from my publishing house, informing me that I can expect a phone call from America on Christmas eve. It is scheduled for seven p.m. U K time, so I’ll just have to make sure that I’m sober,(considering that this is the party season after all!).

  It will be a conversation between myself and my design consultant, and I can only assume that topics such as the format, the size, and the layout of the book will be discussed. I don’t know about you, but because this is my first novel-it’s my baby, and I’m feeling quite exited about it.

  So I’ll keep you posted when further progress is made, and ‘Windfall of the Wise’ is another few steps forward on it’s journey to the bookshop shelves. Keep Watching!

GETTING READY.

“Wyn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Steve.”

  “Steve Boy!”

  “What time tonight?”

  “About four thirty.”

 ”Over at John’s place?”

 ”Yeah. Same time-same place. See you there.”

 ”Cheers Wyn. See you later.”

  The reciever went down, and I exited the public ‘phone-box. With that short exchange I knew exactly what I was going to be doing with myself that Saturday night. It would be much the same as the previous evening.

 A booking at the Four Sevens was always a two night affair-Friday and Saturday, and because it was different from the usual club venues, in the respect that it was more of a rock gig than the usual bingo and ‘Ten Guitars’ sort of do, it often carried with it the promise of a good time.

  But first my mission was to re-design my image. This meant that the two foot long greasy, and difficult to manage, ginger mane that had crowned the top of my head for the last few years had irritated me one time too many. It was way past its ‘use by’ date, and it had to go. I was considering something along the lines of David Bowie, in particular his Ziggy Stardust look. So a visit to the barber was my first port of call that bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. Let’s hope he’s got his BIG scissors-he’s gonna need ‘em!

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