2006.04.06 : Launch Party!
"Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow – Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years"
- Omar Khayyam
"Enlightenment don't pay the motherf%£*ing rent."
- FreeBSD, THE MANUSCRIPT
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears:
To-morrow – Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years"
- Omar Khayyam
"Enlightenment don't pay the motherf%£*ing rent."
- FreeBSD, THE MANUSCRIPT
And but so the night before the official launch of Macmillan New Writing (and, perforce, of THE MANUSCRIPT), Macmillan graciously and stylishly hosted a gala launch party at their smokin' King's Cross digs. There were fire jugglers and free drinks and egregious adulation. And what more, really, need be said than that? (Except perhaps that I missed the fire jugglers, and the first half of the party, due to having freaked out in the face of launch week madness and decades-old children-of-divorce issues and stayed sulking down the pub inhaling pints of Stella until darling Paola coaxed me back into the world, after which I had a really lovely time, but enough about me, on with the gala launch party pictures . . .)
All photo credits 2006 SNAFU Literary Promotion Productions. (SNAFU LPP is a wholey-owned subsidiary of Sara Natalie Fuchs, the entire world's loveliest and most supportive sister.)
Michael Barnard – my editor, Macmillan New Writing publisher, and prince of a fellow – makes introductory remarks and warms up the crowd. (In case the booze and buzz weren't sufficient.) (hide)
Me, mum, mum's husband Jesse, and most – but not nearly enough – of Paola.
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Mum, Paola, and Sara (looking achingly hip).
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Sara kept sneaky trying to get unposed shots of me. Perhaps not entirely unrelated to the fact that they just kept refilling, and refilling, her wine glass, mum snuck into the foreground of this one, which of course is all to the good.
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Me, the back of Pops, and the back of Jayne Barnard – the loveliest and bravest typesetter of all time, who also fixed the book's entire chronology.
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The side of both me and Roger Morris, author of Taking Comfort.
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Me, Roger, and the back of Cate Sweeney, the witty and sexy author of Selfish Jean. (You'll no doubt note the bottle Peroni bira, which I had to run to the pub round the corner to pick up a couple of bottles of, due to being too uncultured to drink wine and too freaked out to risk sobering up (and thus making me even more than the hour late I started out being late). I'm going out of pocket for booze! Some book deal! The critics were right!)
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Me, Roger, Cate, and Mike Barnard.
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Obligatory authors-plus-publisher photo. That's Brian Martin (genial and urbane author of the critically-acclaimed North), Cate, me, Suroopa Mukherjee (author of Across the Mystic Shore), Conor Corderory (author of Dark Rain), Mike, and Roger.
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So Sara carried on trying to sneak unposed shots of me; but due to our mystical sibling connection I seemed to know every time she was in the vicinity and immediately looked over (and posed). Mike thoughtfully gave each of the six of us a nice boxed set of the first six MNW titles.
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Yeah.
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I really like this shot purely as an art photo. (And because it makes me look boozy, which I was.)
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Note the backup, hot-swap, hold-out bottle of Peroni in my jacket pocket.
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Nice try, sis! I see you coming a mile away! Muahahaha . . .
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Of course no one reads anymore, but these look very pretty all stacked up. (The books were all designed by acclaimed book designer Richard Evans, whom I was pleased to meet this night – along with everyone remotely associated with the imprint, many of whom I'd only ever dealt with via e-mail.)
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Hopefully I'll get placement this attractive on the remainder table. ;^)
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This is the bit where all the authors retired to this one table and commenced highly onanistically signing one another's copies of our books in the boxed set, struggling to come up with suitable witticisms, fighting over the only two pens there seemed to be in the room, and basically missing the whole party for about 30 minutes.
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But I still had no plans to sober up. (Although I was finding it all good fun by this point.)
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Pops and Paola, both looking quite winning. My dad is the fashion king at anything that requires a sport coat.
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Sophie (able and unflappable MNW marketing manager), Cate, and me – in another command photo opp. I got sick of being blinded under the display lights, so ratcheted up the Literary Rock Star routine by breaking out my shades. Sara made me take them off and put them on my head.
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My single fave shot. The magic girl without whom there would actually be no book, and I would have no mind (it would have been lost several days ago). Xoxo.
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