'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