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Old 07-17-2011, 10:00 AM   #1
simon palmer
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A harrowing True Story

Losing the Hate
By
Simon Palmer

"I am beginning this journey with a heavy heart and an exhausted soul, but I have come to the realization that the unbelievable shame I have shouldered throughout my life was never mine to carry.

Whatever sadness I feel is not so much a result of the experiences I have had; it stems primarily from the knowledge that there are monsters living among us. And although I have managed to gain some perspective on the shame, it is the guilt that continues to eat away at me.


Intellectually I know that when I berate myself for not exposing these animals, I am looking back at the situation from an adult capacity. The thought that other children might fall prey to these monsters and suffer the same fate did not even occur to me at the time, but it is this thought that now gnaws at me almost constantly.

And it is in this spirit that I choose to break my silence, lay the shame where it belongs, and get on with my life."

I wrote Losing the Hate, over a seven year period, in the hope that it may go a little way to helping the many voiceless victims living among us throughout the world.

The book has gained nearly 200 positive reviews worldwide, with the release of the paperback being realised sometime towards the end of next month.

Losing the hate has been available on amazon.com as well as amazon.co.uk since November 2010, where it has constantly gained five star reviews.

it is to be included on a daytime chat show sometime towards the end of 2011, (UK), where I shall be answering some questions as to how i battled with the demons of my childhood,together with discussing the many complex issues that have bombarded me as an adult.

A SAMPLE FROM LOSING THE HATE
THE PHOTO SHOOT

The next day at school Ropeman asked me if the following Saturday would be okay to take the photographs. I said that’d be great and excitedly ranted about how much I was looking forward to doing them. He patted me on the shoulder and smiled, saying that if at all possible I should bring a few items of clothing. When I asked what it was I should wear, he simply replied, “Whatever you look good in.”
After what seemed to be an absolute lifetime, Saturday morning finally arrived and I was ready and waiting outside the school gates, clutching a carrier bag my Mother had filled with various items of clothing. It was only a matter of minutes before Ropeman pulled up in his car, beaming his usual smile and gesturing for me to get into the front seat, “Morning young man, you all set and raring to go then?”
“You bet,” I answered, “I got some jeans an’ T-shirts, Mum ironed me school uniform an’ all.” “Excellent, lets rock an’ roll then.” He seemed to be as excited as I was, explaining that we would be
doing the shoot at his flat, saying it made more sense since his equipment was stored there.
The drive only took about twenty minutes, and as I got out of the car an unfamiliar sound of gravel crunched under my feet. A huge Victorian house seemed to peer down, almost beckoning me with it’s large “window-eyes,” inviting me to enter it’s mouth; and as I continued to gaze at the sheer magnitude of the building I felt his hand rest on my shoulder, “It’s not all mine I’m afraid.”
When I looked up at Ropeman, I noticed he was almost beaming, a smile plastered across his chubby face. Without hesitating I smiled too, still feeling fortunate and tremendously excited.

We walked side by side across the drive, up the enormous stone steps and entered the gigantic front door. Any onlooker who may have happened to glance our way could easily have mistaken us for Father and Son.
Inside was a rather unexpectedly small hallway with a winding staircase leading up to the first floor. Ropeman gestured me towards an inner door opposite the stairs. He led me down a narrow passageway that opened out into an impressive lounge. The room was littered with bookcases, but my eyes were immediately drawn to the lighting and tripod that dominated the centre of the living space. Ropeman left me alone while he sorted out some cold drinks. When he returned I could hardly believe my eyes; he was carrying two
glasses of beer. I put the glass to my lips and took a huge mouthful.
“You take your time with that young man; there’ll be hell to pay if I take you home tidily.”

I was ten years old.

He suggested that we begin straight away and I was told to sit on the sofa, ignoring the camera as best as my excitement would allow. Maybe about six or seven shots were taken when, as cheerful as ever, Ropeman asked me to take off my top. He explained that it would add to the image of me relaxing at home.
The request made me feel quite embarrassed, but ignoring the sudden wave of apprehension sweeping over me, I agreed and removed my T-shirt.
A dozen or so more pictures were taken before we took a short break. He offered me more beer. We chatted about school and what I got up to during the evening with my friends, Peter Simpson and Mark Milner. They were also his students, and the thought crossed my mind how envious they would be when they found out I had spent the day at Ropeman's home, drinking beer no less..
Once the small talk was all but done he piped up with what was quite obviously the next part of his elaborate plan, “What do you think of stretching out on the sofa, as if you were asleep? Think you can do that?”
“Yeah, be easy,” I said with false bravado as another wave of apprehension took hold.
And it was there, as I lay on the settee that my journey into hell began.

I remember feeling as though a thousand eyes were staring at me; and at that moment I truly hated the camera more than anything in the entire world.
When Ropeman instructed me to pull my jeans up as far as they would go, my young mind had no idea that the next shot would be centered on my private parts.
Minutes later my photo was being taken with me wearing nothing but my underpants, again, pulled up as far as they would go.


Take it away, take it away,
Smash it or burn it, that Saturday.
Tear it and rip it,
Take the memory away,
I long to forget that Saturday.
Leave me, leave me, and leave me alone,
No more photos, just take me home.
Don’t give me smiles,
An’ I don’t want your beer,
Don’t ask me to strip,
Don’t fill me with fear.
I hate you, I hate you.
You horrible man.

*** Bit of an update: I received a phone call yesterday, and after a chat, I've decided to appear on BBC Radio Cornwall (UK), where I'll be interviewed about my book, Losing the Hate. The date for this is 5th August at 4.30pm ***

Last edited by simon palmer; 07-22-2011 at 10:16 AM. Reason: update
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Old 07-17-2011, 10:36 AM   #2
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First, welcome to Mobileread!

Here is the link at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Losing-Hate-Si...0913149&sr=8-1

Do you have plans to offer it in other formats for those of us who do not own Kindles or use the application? There are a lot of us!
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Old 07-17-2011, 10:47 AM   #3
simon palmer
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Smile

Hey there MavisO,

Yuppers, I'm in the process of sorting out the other formats as we speak
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Old 07-17-2011, 04:11 PM   #4
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Cool! This sounds like a great book, and I would hate for you to limit your audience by format.
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Old 08-12-2011, 12:02 PM   #5
simon palmer
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BBC Radio Interview For "Losing the Hate"

Hi Guys,

Here's a link for my radio interview for my true life book, Losing the Hate.

http://wade-inbooktrailers.blogspot....lmer-ian1.html
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