June 10th, 2003

bear by san

ooo, trembly and weak

Well, THAT bout of low blood sugar hit like a brick. Fortunately, tomato juice was present and has been consumed, and I am less wobbly now. (Many, many, many diabetic ancestors: I'm lucky I'm only mildly hypoglycemic.)

I did a little toe-wetting research for THE STRATFORD MAN today and tidied the 500-word prologue I write a few months back to fix the idea in my head. I suspect that this one is going to take a while. I did make a few POV choices today, however. Darn it, I really need to go to London to write this book. But I have a plot, and a beginning and an ending, and an arc in the middle.

Sigh. So much research.

I was supposed to meet with Marion and Ed and Chris today at Outback Steakhouse to do some work on the nonfic project proposal, but that got put off until tomorrow. So I guess my coconut shrimp will have to wait. Since I don't get coconut shrimp, I'm making Thai-Jamaican fusion jerk country-style pork ribs. With white rice for Anji and myself, and tater tots for Chris, who does not eat rice. It's experimental.

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  • Current Music
    Leonard Cohen - Who By Fire
bear by san

This is a bad week for bodies.

Now my *right* shoulder hurts and my left shoulder doesn't. My right shoulder is not supposed to hurt. Only my left shoulder is supposed to hurt.

I so do not have the hang of the corporeality thing.

I did a couple of hours of reading on Elizabethan England today, including some charming stuff in a primary source about how the writer's mastiff would take the rod out of his hand when he went to beat his children. Ah, times have changed. But mastiffs haven't.

I did some poking at STRATFORD MAN too. I'm still not sure if it's a historical fantasy, or an alternate history with magic. Or both. But it's getting some shape in my head. It's totally not ripe yet, though. The Kelpie book (A GLASS OF RAIN) is making faint ripening gestures, though, so I'll probably poke at them concurrently. Next week is for the nonfic project proposal, although it's about as exciting to me as a high school report. I just was not cut out to write nonfiction.


*goes back to poking at Elizabethan story*
  • Current Music
    Robin Williamson - The Wild Colonial Boy
bear by san


The Stratford Man: 526 words (mostly poking to see if it's ripe yet, or possibly even twitching)
Reason for stopping: Can't see straight, and I got as far as I knew what to write.

It's going to be slow going. I can see that: there's a google in every paragraph. (What's the recipe for irongall ink?)

Must find out what Richard Burbage's friends called him. God damn it, I hate historical writing. But I have to admit, the frustrated English major in me rather enjoyed writing this:

"I would not hazard myself to hazard a guess," Burbage replied, hooking a bootheel over a rung of the stool. "What are you working on?"

"Titus Andronicus."

"Still? The plague will have the playhouses closed into winter, Will. Mark my words. And it's a terrible story."
  • Current Music
    Phish - Magilla