Wordcount: 1264, because I said I wouldn't write today.
Reason for stopping: Will finished the letter I was automatic-writing for him. Which cleverly dispenses with 1595. Okay, not ALL of 1595. But all the exposition about 1595.
Hmm. My subconsious is pretty good at this writing thing when I give it a chance to be.
I'm having a title crisis. Let me get this straight: I am utterly in love with the title The Stratford Man. In part because it's a snappy title. In part because it instantly identifies the period and topic. Handy for luring Shakespeare fans into the fold. And in part because it's a snide comment regarding those people who don't think Will wrote Will's plays--the Oxfordians in particular tend to dismiss him snarkily as "the Stratford man," as if a country boy could never have managed anything like that. Arrant snobbery--
--Now the title is appropriate (very appropriate) to Will's side of the story arc, and somewhat to Kit's. It also expresses one of the major themes of the book, which is coming home or choosing your home. The problem is, in addition to Will, I have Kit. Who gets just as much wordcount. Even if he's hidden behind Will--
--so the title doesn't quite work as perfectly as I like my titles to work.
(Yes, I know if I sell it they'll likely retitle it on me anyway. Shush. That's irrelevant.)
Anyway, being a semipsychotic writer type, I asked my characters what they thought. Kit gave me The Queen's Man, which works as a title for the book. The bad news is, it sucks. So I was safe with my mostly-acceptable title.
But today Will handed me this one: This Tragic Glass.
Which is good in that it works on many, many levels. It is good in that it's a relevant quotation (see below). And it's not so good because it doesn't instantly tell you who you'll be dealing with.
So, meh. Frelling titles. Frelling books. Frelling writing.
View but his picture in this tragic glass,
And then applaud his fortunes as you please
--Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine the great, Part 1 II 7-8