The scene was set, rhyme after reprehensible rhyme were being put onto parchment, etched into the fabrics of time and space as we know it for ever more... the power of words would never be underestimated again, the sharpest swords are beguilingly blunt, desperately dull and therefore immensely ineffective against these amazing collection and arrangement of humble letters from the alphabet..
Now was the time to gather some inspiration and imagery for the book... Mark had some ideas about the look of the book.
Many of you are probably familiar with Tim Burton's : The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy
Annecy... situated 35km south of Geneva, host of 'Annecy International Animation Film Festival' since 1960 (oh, I say!) and has a famous prison (built in the 1920s)- which is known to be the symbol of the town and is apparently the most photographed monuments in all of France! (thank you, internet) This prison, Palais de L'isle is shown above, photographed by yours truly.
Originally the residence for the Lord of Annecy, it later became the administrative headquarters for the Count of Geneva, then a courthouse and eventually a jail... it is built in the middle of the canal that runs through this perfectly picturesque place and did become a highlight of our trip to Annecy- we couldn't stop mentioning it.. but that's a story for another day...
And here we have quite a lovely, calm view of Lake Annecy. They're clever about the names, they are.
And.. you've guessed it! More pictures from Annecy..
This is the last day at the camp site. look closely and you can see the brown patches of grass-less ground where our tents were put up for two weeks. Also, as if to mock us, the sun decided to come out that day..
THIS- is the room where the poem book was brought into this world, not kicking and screaming... it arrived quite willingly, as if it was waiting to be called upon... We were in Annecy for two weeks for the Animation Festival mentioned above. We were camping for the entire trip...and it rained almost every day! This room was our sanctuary, our promised land we knew awaited us after a long and rainy day. It was the place of dreams, it meant the status of our feet could go from 'drenched' to 'damp'- what more could one ask for? It came complete with camp-site owners who told me off, a bookcase filled with novels that were not in English and a TV with Futurama episodes dubbed in French. Yes, we were living the life.