Shut up, son, and keep sucking.
I sat down to write last night – the story I’m doing with Fin, for Comics2003. We’ve talked about it some, and the notes I had for it were “Scary Trees and Edwardian Costumes”, and some vague notion of riffing of Bronte, very lightly indeed. Before I was halfway done last night, I found myself back hurriedly away from writing an incestuous Father-Daughter relationship which had crept out of my subconcious.
As it is, my notes so far have, in caps across the top “A story about blasphemy. Pervert Sex in 1890’s yorkshire.” and, for reasons that made sense at the time, I found myself researching Mary Shelley’s short fiction, and the myth of the wandering jew.
Oh, and google image search doesn’t bring back any photos of hanging corpses.
I think something may be wrong with my brain.