it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

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If Dusty Springfield

Never did a single thing in her life except record "Son of a Preacher Man," it were enough.


'Scuse me: I need a cold shower now.


Wordcount: 1018 words. God. Damn. It.
And through that meatgrinder of a scene that has been kicking my ass since Monday. Which is fucking odd, because not a damned thing happens in it except for setup for other scenes and some exposition and a little plot development. But it was a tiger to write.

And I figured out how to dispense with the eleven months between September of 1595 and August of 1596, which I need for expositional reasons (stuff happens that is Important Later, but the POV characters aren't there for it. So it needs to be handled As Exposition.)


Frelling historical novels.

And I have a headache. I'm going to shower and see Seabiscuit, and hopefully get that exposition out of the way tonight.

Writing Is Hard


And here upon my knees, striking the earth,
I banne their soules to everlasting paines
And extreme tortures of the fiery deepe,
That thus have dealt with me in my distresse.

--Christopher Marlowe, The Jew of Malta

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