The hardest thing about writing, is the act of doing it. Having a great idea is fantastic, but you’ve got to get it down on paper, or type it out on-screen. I know this just as well as many.
For the past seven years or so, I’ve been kicking around the idea for a comic book. I’ve been an avid comic book reader/fan/geek my entire life. So, writing my own only seemed natural. I had sketched out random ideas for this comic, had multiple brainstorming sessions with the artist, and started a first draft in March 2015. Then, again on January 31, 2016.
Yesterday, I finished it. It felt amazing. It was like an achievement was unlocked and I’d acquired enough XP to Level Up. I had finished the beginning of this story, and I had given life to this world that was gestating inside my head. It felt so great.
But, now? Now it’s time to edit, and re-write, re-write, re-write.
The hardest thing about writing, is the act of doing it. I love the act, every beautiful, tortured moment.
I woke up this morning gasping for air. The room was dark, there was no light peaking through the curtains. When I pushed them aside the sky was grey and somber. The world seemed to lack color. There were no bright blues. There were no oranges, or golden yellows. There was only grey.
Then I heard the news.
Suddenly, it all made sense. He was gone. The Man Who Fell To Earth. The Starman. The Thin White Duke. The Goblin King. Gone.
He was a true artist. He was transcendent. He was a god among mortals. He was like Baphomet, Dionysus, or Minerva. A radiant, colorful idol, who took us to the stars and through space.
And now he is gone.
It does seem like the world lost more than just a person, or musician. He was a complete artist who influenced the worlds of music, fashion, and film. He produced and executed complete artistic visions.
It is those things that he leaves behind with all of us, in all of us. For that, we are truly grateful.
They are gifts from a god.