A sense of loss

I'm feeling as though I've lost a great friend. I've only known them for a few months, but they've become such a huge part of my life. I've come to love them and now they're gone.

And also this morning I'm reminded of the great TS Eliot quotation -

"Words strain, Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish, Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place..."

It's difficult to sum up the emotions but that's a part of this writing lark, so I'll have a go.

An Unnecessary Murder was like nothing I've ever done before. I've been given an insight into another world, the life of the stage, and it's been utterly fascinating. But that part I expected.

Here's what came as a surprise, the twist so beloved of we crime writers - it was the extraordinary, uplifting camaraderie. The taking of a group of people who largely didn't know each other and watching them grow into a team, close knit and bonded by the desire to do something worthwhile and do it bloody well.  And the privilege of being a part of that.

Last night, at home, after the final performance, I realised how it felt.  It took me back more than twenty years to the night I left university.  When a life forged in shared experience was coming to an end, and the world would never be the same again.

And that I never expected, and has come as the most moving part of an amazing journey.

Alongside the searing emotion, I've learned so much from the talented and dedicted people who I've been so very fortunate to work with. I've been touched and humbled by the kindness and generosity of all those who have helped and supported us.  And I've delighted in the reaction of our audience, night after night.

It's been delight upon reward upon insight upon privilege upon joy.  And so much more, too.

I've been a long way from my comfort zone these last few weeks.  It was a risk - no one might come to watch, people could hate it, it might all go wrong in a very public manner - but it was a chance worth taking.  Because how wonderfully it feels that it's all paid off.

And so life returns to normal.  But then, as Dan reflects at the end of The Balace of Guilt, that's a concept which has always tended to elude him - and indeed us both.

I know I said it last night, but I want to set it down again, here on my website, in writing - thank you one and all for such an extraordinary time.  Thank you so much.

Right, finally, before I choke - or break into a Penelope Ramsden waterfall of tears! - a favourite song to go with this blog. 

Today I choose the beautiful, and very moving, Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers.  I'd like to dedicate the song to An Unnecessary Murder, and all those who sailed with her.