A Day In Capital City
Free Hugs : A Personal Story
I’m a published author! Sounds grand, eh?
Oh, okay… I’m a self-published author. Suddenly, the grandness of the opening sentence falls like scales from a lover’s eyes when they return home unexpectedly early from work to find you wearing their underwear and masturbating over a photograph of her mother.
Look. It only happened the once. Let it go! Ahem.
Where was I? Oh, yeah… my first book. And it flopped onto my doormat yesterday morning: Free Hugs : A Personal Story chronicles my alter ego, Hugh Mann’s, experiences with a Free Hugs sign over two and a half extraordinary years in the magnificent city of Bath, England. I cobbled it together using the rather excellent Blurb software, and I’m very impressed by the quality and feel of the book, too [softcover]. And it will certainly prove to be a wonderful lifetime/experience keepsake, as was always its main intention.
But… It’s not exactly the cheapest way to produce a book, and I can’t help but think it’s a frightening amount for others to potentially buy into. It certainly doesn’t feel like a 30UKP book in the hands! So, as pleased as I am with the result, there’s a part of me that almost feels obliged to warn potential buyers to lower their expectation due to the price alone.
I wonder if anyone on Blurb has had any experience of buyers actually throwing a book back at them when they eventually get hold of it? Perhaps I should disable the hardcover option, just in case?! Or simply buy a book crash helmet?!
I’m already regretting not fully investigating its pop-up Free Hug potential; the book could’ve then immediately consoled the buyer. As it is, I’ve decided to go with offering a FREE pack of crayons to eat for all purchasers.
However, I have uploaded the entire book as a PREVIEW which can be seen if you click on the image below:
RGB Awards 2012 : Bristol Festival of Photography [BFOP]
Getting a little excited about this now. I’ve never been to a photography awards evening, much less one with two of my own images accepted [from the deeply personal The Anatomy Of A Stroke series*]!
* Thanks to the continued support and encouragement of my father. Who, incidentally, finally looked at the whole series – partly prompted by this news – only late last week.
Although… {Glances at watch: 5:30pm Wednesday} …I’d much rather be happy and relaxed. I got the two images printed a couple of days ago, but I want to include the text in the frame, too. And, as it’s not something I’ve done before, this is being stubbornly problematic. [Or am I being stubbornly problematic?!] Anyhoo… I just desperately want to strike the right balance between image and text, especially so the latter, being in the frame, doesn’t overly distract from the former. I finally plumped for square frames yesterday. But with other life getting in the way and time rapidly running out, inspiration [and printing!] needs to punch me in the face very soon.
{Fiddles with worry beads and rubs lucky rabbit’s foot}
Oh, and it’s these two:
No. 73
He walked a thousand miles. And when he got there she had gone. Nearly 20 years earlier. A terrible, creeping, insidious cancer. And in those final days, although he would never know, she had said his name. Softly. Quietly. Until her last breath. As the door closed in front of him, all he could do was stare. Empty. Hollow. He’d wasted a lifetime to reach this conclusion. And now, her door, once as bright and welcoming as her smile, was cracked and weathered; etched with the memory of her passing and a naked reflection of his own aged and time weathered face and hands. In the cherry tree above his head a blackbird sang its plaintive tune. An echo of her memory.
The Anatomy Of A Stroke [Month 3]
It’s been a difficult month. As those who’ve been following the story will know, it began with dad back in hospital with a heart scare. [In a nutshell, for those who might not have subsequently followed updates in the Comments under the previous Flickr image: in hospital for nearly two weeks, essentially awaiting continually cancelled angiogram; procedure eventually confirmed atrial fibrillation; probably the best outcome given the admission; more meds and back home on the recovery path.]
But momentum has been lost. One notable unwelcome side-effect of the hospital admission: the daily physio visits stopped and weren’t resumed when he returned home. When you have people visiting and encouraging you on a daily basis, only to suddenly have that disappear, it’s understandable to see that motivation can all too easily ebb, too.
Tiredness is certainly a factor, but potential negative feelings and associated frustrations will bring with them the next challenge in dad’s recovery. The other day his brother was helping him replace a handrail, but by refusing to acknowledge the creeping tiredness – as it was something he felt he should be able to do – it simply resulted in exhaustion and fractiousness. It’s a fine line.
And that will be the next challenge in dad’s rehabilitation. To defeat old habits, expectations and gnawing negative feelings and refocus on the momentum achieved prior to his hospital admission; all the while accepting that tiredness will be a likely running mate, but not necessarily the governing force.
Recovery isn’t just survival. Recovery isn’t just the good fortune of avoiding significant, lingering disability. Recovery is focussing on the achievable, then taking the next step.
Nige' Ollis 
