I left my cosy office job at 4 pm Wednesday and dropped my coworker at home. From there, I made my journey out west by 4 hours, covering roughly 300 km. Keep in mind that I drive a 1979 Toyota Crown, which is not exactly the most fuel-efficient car around. The previous owner put an aftermarket fuel tank in the car so it holds 25ish litres. I get 1L per 5km in my car. It can make an easy drive much longer – I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my car and all the troubles that come with it.

I wrote from the perspective of an older man who has just experienced the loss of his partner. The man and his partner never had any children, and as a result, he found himself writing letters to non-existent children as a way to express his thoughts and feelings. However, as time passed, the letters were simply stored away, never to be sent or read by anyone. This is the final letter he will write to his imaginary children.

I remember seeing him sit by himself. Everyone passed by without a second glance. The fish market moved in a mesmerising pattern. The people swayed like grass in the wind, all tightly packed, rolling as metal ball bearings. The owner of each stall ran their mouths with a disarming, charismatic desperation. Some stopped to talk and make purchases. Some wander through like they're at a museum, looking at fanciful paintings with deeper meanings. Others just passed with the determination to lease as soon as possible.

I wrote this short story when seeing an image of a sheep frozen beneath the water in a meadow, while the spine of the sheep was subjected to the elements. It reminded me of a song I knew. The image was so strong and raw, I just wanted to imagine the moments prior.

The existential thinking transformed into creativity and I wrote up to the second knock that night. I had yet to work out what was on the other side of that window pane. It wasn’t until about three years later that I settled on what was lurking outside. At first it was a bird, then a bat and finally a demon from hell. I settled on the shadow as it allows the audience to ponder on their own late night thoughts and the ideas you don’t let in until those quiet morning hours. Thoughts, like the shadow, can hang on the periphery of your mind and with a simple tap tap tap, it all comes flooding in.

Music connects people across time, and in the case of Shakey Graves and Jay Manley, it was a weathered guitar that forged a profound bond. This is how a 1932 Gibson L-7 guitar found its way into Shakey Graves' hands, breathing life into forgotten melodies and leaving an enduring impact on both musicians. It's a tale of deep emotion and the transformative power of music.