This is brilliant. The poetry of it, the darkness, a key to a terrifying childhood where things are brutally askew but the age of full understanding hasn’t come yet. But it is coming, and sooner than it ever should. Just damn excellent.
This is incredible. The way the voice changes as the main character goes from a baby through later childhood at the end is nuanced and expertly done. I’m still thinking about how you did it.
Fantastic Will. I was just about to get off substack for the night and I thought ‘I’ll just have a squiz at Will’s piece’ and then bam! I’m hooked. Reading every line to the very end totally engrossed. You captured the voice of a young boy well. And as usual your descriptions and unique tone is so engaging. You have a real knack for altering your writing style and voice to suit the characters you portray. Great stuff man. :)
Jesus. That last line hit like a wet church bell in a storm. There’s a weird peace in this—like staring into a bruise long enough it starts to look like a painting.
You didn’t overplay it. You just let the storm roll in, slow and earned. That’s the hard part, right? Not flinching. Not rushing. Just standing still while the weathercock disappears.
This is the kind of writing that makes me want to sit down and shut up for a second. Respect.
Will, "Weathercock," is a glorious piece of writing. Your use of metaphors and language startled me and filled me with fascination, drawing me deeply into your sweet, sad, possibly tragic tale. All I wanted to do was climb into the story and rescue that little boy. You've done something special here and I hope you submit it to magazines like THE NEW YORKER. It's a gem.
Get the fuck out of here with this. It's too damn good. WILL!!
Sean you’re too damn kind
Golden Boi.
This is running a scalpel down middle a newborn’s BELLY.
(Also one blunt/joint for every belly)
This goes hard as 🐔
Will this is stunning
thanks, c.s.!!
I apologize to my past self for not reading this earlier
lol apology accepted
This is brilliant. The poetry of it, the darkness, a key to a terrifying childhood where things are brutally askew but the age of full understanding hasn’t come yet. But it is coming, and sooner than it ever should. Just damn excellent.
thanks so much Liz :)
This is incredible. The way the voice changes as the main character goes from a baby through later childhood at the end is nuanced and expertly done. I’m still thinking about how you did it.
Everything here. Everything. I felt each image and scene and emotion and memory up until the end, and was, too, left pining for Ma...
Thanks so much Bryan, yeah…my heart bleeds for Ma :(
Fantastic Will. I was just about to get off substack for the night and I thought ‘I’ll just have a squiz at Will’s piece’ and then bam! I’m hooked. Reading every line to the very end totally engrossed. You captured the voice of a young boy well. And as usual your descriptions and unique tone is so engaging. You have a real knack for altering your writing style and voice to suit the characters you portray. Great stuff man. :)
thanks so much Michael, you are such a valued and careful reader, I appreciate you!
My favorite line: “I trace the rivulets with my fingertip, craving a pattern, a direction, something.”
I like that one too! My fav scene is that last one
Beautiful and ominous by turns. Full of rich imagery; I can’t get those maple leaves out of my mind. A gorgeous piece.
Thank you Garen !
Can’t wait!
Jesus. That last line hit like a wet church bell in a storm. There’s a weird peace in this—like staring into a bruise long enough it starts to look like a painting.
You didn’t overplay it. You just let the storm roll in, slow and earned. That’s the hard part, right? Not flinching. Not rushing. Just standing still while the weathercock disappears.
This is the kind of writing that makes me want to sit down and shut up for a second. Respect.
damn Max, thanks for this amazing comment. I found a weird peace in writing this one as well
My pleasure. Thanks for writing something worth diving in to.
love when it's gripping and i inadvertently speed up my reading but the pace matches it perfectly nonetheless
i know a boucher classic when i see one
Will, "Weathercock," is a glorious piece of writing. Your use of metaphors and language startled me and filled me with fascination, drawing me deeply into your sweet, sad, possibly tragic tale. All I wanted to do was climb into the story and rescue that little boy. You've done something special here and I hope you submit it to magazines like THE NEW YORKER. It's a gem.
Thanks Sandy! The boy certainly needs some rescuing!
Incredible. Truly.
<3