E 'became official on August 18, at fifteen hours and twelve hours in which time I looked at the window, then.
Officially, OT is over. Concluded. I wrote my classical sentence, what I write in all the works in prose terms, and that makes me tremble every time your heart. Even a little breath, and this time was different again.
Why can not I ever cried at the end of a story before OT.
was with me from the beginning of January when I started to write [or the last days of December, when I started the project] and has been with me forever. Especially the first few months, but also during the detachment who were in May and June, and now in July I thought incurable. As it happened, that in a few days, has written quell'irrecuperabile final, I can not explain.
And I think a lot of things, thinking about the drafting of OT.
kilometer walks in my room, and he flashes that catches me almost everywhere I-I learned to shoot with notebook and pen only since I started this job.
I think of the dozens of train travel-commute-with headphones in his ears, listening to its soundtrack.
And so I think of many songs and melodies that have accompanied all this, and you will be bound forever.
In particular, "The Kill" -30 Seconds to Mars song as the carrier. But even some classical pieces, especially related to 'Orphee et Eurydice Gluck. Paganini E, Then Liszt. How can we not remember and his Schubert Rosamunde for strings. Then, the song of my character as an atmosphere that does not go so well, so dark and sad, but that's perfect words for him. And those pieces [horrible]-pop, I can not not bind.
Then there are images that will never be the same meaning. The sea, for example, the color of the sea.
A white rose on a piano. The red hair. The black velvet. The sun and the moon, the sand.
The profiles of Paris. OT
I started when I was writing the third novel of a mythological fantasy series, and should not be just a joke. One way to explore and experiment, to train some sections of writing that does not satisfy me. And then
.
E 'became my life-my breath. Myself. Reading it, it holds 70% of me as a person.
There is a bit of me in characters, atmosphere, history itself. Reflections and distortions and discomfort and salvation.
And I was really saved me from myself, OT.
He saved my love for writing, gave me back a little bit of confidence, probably.
not love him enough, I think. And I'll never stop loving him. It 's a novel because it opens and closes, because it has a theme, around which a pivot turn, has a more or less nominal protagonist, and the road takes the beaten paths and leads to a conclusion. It 's a novel, yes. But it is not finished.
It will not end until they end their lives. And mine with them.
The following is in the works, the side also.
I will start it very soon. I fear that without them, now, for me, it is impossible to stay.
"It 's much less indecent sleeping together, that look in his eyes."
Boris Vian. Last night I dreamed
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