As of two minutes ago, I wrote The End on Son of Songs.
I feel… sweaty. Emotional sweaty. It’s been a couple of hours of fighting tears and tying loose ends, and leaving some loose for fun. My hands are a bit shaky and I feel kind of light headed, and happy and sad at the same time.
I always feel like this at the end of a project. It’s an emotional thing. For so long the same story has been part of you, and all at once it is no longer your story to tell. Because the story is told. And that’s a weird kind of feeling. It does feel very final.
Unlike most of my other projects, however, this isn’t really the end. There are still pictures to go with the words. Worlds to create in colour and line. Parts of the story will inevitably have to change to fit a medium I’ve never worked in before. That is at once exciting and frightening. Son of Songs will leave my hands and be crafted by someone else. There will be questions asked about how I chose to end it, and why. Why certain characters never appear, and why some do. But there’s time enough for that I guess.
I know I have other stories about these characters to tell. Probably not as comic books. But that’ll be good fun, exploring their lives in prose.
I can’t wait to see them alive.
Recently found that Google docs thing where you can collaborate with dead authors like Poe, Shakespeare, Dickenson and Dickens.
This is what they made of Circle.
‘It was the best of times, it was… ” Unlike most ” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper of the other places I’ve mentioned thus far, you emphatically won’t see Charlie Connor’s fair and stately palace anymore. Instead, you’ll voraciously come to a beautiful drive with tall elms as well as white gravel and a large black gate, with a chain and a yellow sign on it assuredly declaring “Warning: Dangerous site” and a lot of police “tape”, he growled incoherently. And a charred skeleton of bricks, mortar, glass and carpets. I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat. Like Scrappy. Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot.’
And this is what they made of the most-used poem in Son of Songs.
‘Tyger tyger burning luminous,
“In the forests of the night” replied Oliver, “I want some more”.
What immortal fingered palm or eye
Did frame thy fearful symmetry? There are no eternal facts, as there are no absolute truths.
On what wings dare he aspire
Oh what the hand may seize the halo of a world of loveless suffering? I do not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners.’
Have a go – it’s a good laugh!