(From yesterday’s Megatokyo. Yes, I did read it yesterday. Meant to comment on it, too, but here we are.)
When I read this comic I was sort of surprised. You see, for the longest time–I first remember commenting about it when I was working at Willis Music (horrible website here) in Lexington–I have had a thing where I cry when I sing along to music. I don’t remember it happening when I sang karaoke in Japan. Really, it seems to happen when I’m by myself and really enjoying the music. And it does happen when I just listen to music, too. I’ve cried to Battlecry songs.
Nikki, one of my co-workers at Willis, told me that it was probably the vibration of the sound in my nasal passages causing me to tear up.
I ran with this idea later in college in a story that blew chunks. It was never posted online because it was so horrible. I was reacting to the pressure to produce art by writing about different artists and their reactions to the pressure to produce art. I had a painter who killed himself, and his final work was his apartment, bathed in his own blood. I had his lover, who I think was a musician. I don’t remember what happened to him. There was a writer, too, and she became a journalist. And then there was the singer. She cried whenever she sang and became famous for it, but one day her nose was broken in an accident, and after the reconstructive surgery she didn’t cry when she sang anymore. The illusion was broken and she fell from favor.
The story doesn’t really sound all that bad in paraphrase, but trust me when I tell you that I wrote it horribly. It sucked. Stories are half about concept and half about execution. Whenever I have one, I seem to always half-ass the other.
Someday, when I get them both right, I might actually publish something.