Andrew Kay on Raising CAPITAL
With only a brief flirtation with Tolkien in my teens, one that has lasted way into my 50s, I admit, I have had little interest in the world of fantasy.
I made a good stab at it when, in my early 30s, I was art director of publishing house Victor Gollancz. There I had to deal with rather a lot of it as the company had a burgeoning list of top ranking fantasy and SF authors. I say SF having once made the mistake of refering to it as sci-fi to the chief SF editor, Malcolm, who looked at me as if I had crawled out from underneath a paving slab. So SF it is, with sci-fi being used strictly for the film genre.
At that time I did develop a taste for Dick – Philip K. Dick that is, you bad people, and for J. G. Ballard, a writer of incredible talent whose work crosses over so many barriers. I also developed a love for Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels. I designed several and in those days commissioned the artwork from the much loved and now missed Josh Kirby. Hard back editions I might add, in those days I had little to do with anything limp.
It was then that I gave in to the use of capital letters, Pratchett using them for any dialogue spoken by the character Death. I later accepted the same from Julie Burchill who uses caps to shout, to great effect I think.
After leaving Victor Gollancz I had little to do with SF or fantasy, my new employers, Macmillan, did not seem to think at that point that it was appropriate material.
“Today I have little to do with fantasy, except for my own very private ones that see me relaxing with a huge platter of fruit de mer, now outlawed by the Gout Gestapo”
Today I have little to do with fantasy, except for my own very private ones that see me relaxing with a huge platter of fruit de mer, now outlawed by the Gout Gestapo.
Then suddenly I was plunged into a deep world of fantasy that had me reeling. I had returned home to find an envelope waiting for me. It was a quality piece of stationery too. Deep cream, heavily laid paper, an unusually square envelope with a deep pointed flap and my address beautifully printed on the front with a real stamp and not the impersonal imprint of a franking machine. I took it inside, took off my coat and decided that a letter of such class needed serious consideration. So I made a pot of tea, loose leaf of course, in my new Bodum glass and steel teapot, opened a packet of biscuits, to hell with the gout I thought, and settled down on the now collapsing sofa to give the missive due attention.
Inside, the letter had been printed on equally smart paper and the letterhead was refined, restrained and stylish.
It had an air of seriousness that was both alarming and intriguing.
I took a sip of tea and started to read, and, after a few lines I realised that this was the work of a very clever marketing person from a company masquerading as a top end investment company.
I was initially cross, I hate cold calling of any kind, but to wrap it in this way really got my goat, that was until I turned to the second piece of paper which was lodged in the fold of a pre-paid return envelope. Here there was a simple form, only a few points and all with tick boxes. I could not resist reading it, and it was there I entered the world of fantasy again after years of absence.
Tucked in, a few points down was the simple statement: I have £500,000 pound of capital that I would be interested in investing.
How I laughed, so much that I could almost use Dad’s favourite phrase “The tears rolled down my legs”. Half a million, I mean HALF A MILLION (sorry Julie and Terry, needs must and all that).
Really, if I had that kind of money bobbing about in my bank account I would no doubt have already sought financial advice. I have not and I cannot imagine why they thought that I might.
If anyone wants to gift me that sort of sum I will call these advisors and let them believe that I am interested in using their services – before dumping them and scolding them for their stupidity. I am not that easily led.
