Well, I made an Icarus… but he proved to be, for me, a flight too high. I still need to work on my figures and the winged figure, while it did work, wasn’t something I felt particularly happy with as a piece.
So I decided to concentrate on the wings. After all, the story of Icarus hinges on those wings. If they’d been sturdier, built with solar-heat-resistant wax, they’d have held up better to the stress. Perhaps, if they’d been designed by NASA, the story would have read very differently. But they weren’t and so they failed and fell…. and likely floated gently down, landing in a different place to their erstwhile wearer.
If you came across those wings on a pavement, would you know where they had come from, what tragedy of ambition led to them being there? Probably not. But it just goes to show – everything is part of a story. Even the piece of chewing gum spat out next to those wings on the ground. Stories are vital. They’re gossip, morality, history and geography, fairytales and fantasy, truth and fiction. Without stories, what would the world be?
And with that, I move on. Or sideways. Because thinking about stories made me think about the pen that writes them. This is, I’ll admit, self-indulgent. I’ve been wanting to make a pen for ages. But it hadn’t occurred to me until recently that the pen could match the tale. And so here is the pen for fantasy writers:
And here, Bram Stoker’s: