June 29th, 2003

bear by san

Conjunction, junction, what's your function?

I am Envy. I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.

-- Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus

The more Renaissance lit I read, the more love I develop for standardized grammar and spelling. Especially in non-formal writing (letters and depositions and so forth) there is often the effect that the commas, conjunctions and pronouns were applied with a cannon. And verb tenses were, quite frankly, a matter of whim.

On the other hand, I do find that some of my slush still shows up looking like that. I wonder... does that mean there are a lot of Methuselan Elizabethan poets out there writing SFF short stories for the semipro market? That would explain why we get so many stories on themes of Hell, I suppose.


Meanwhile, Act II. I thought I understood how to do it, and now my subconscious is balking. The five-Act structure of the novel is handy because it allows me to jump forward in time and move through things quickly--which is good, because there are myriad little important events that take place separated by vast plains of banality (Oh, look: Will is cheating on his taxes again). But it also makes me wary of changing things between acts when they seem to be working. (In this case, it would be losing one character's POV for about 150 pages while I dispense with 6 years worth of politics and playmaking in London. But if I keep the POV, I have to come up with an arc for said character, who is currently enjoying the fleshpots of wherever it is that he is and--well. Hmmm. Actually, I wonder if there is some stuff I need to establish there. Oh, hell, there is. A whole factionalism thing.)

Usually, when my subconscious won't go over the water jump, or gets stalled halfway through the in-and-out, it's because it's spotted some problem that the rider (my conscious mind) wasn't aware of. We have a pretty good trust, my horse and I. Refusals are a method of communication.

So is my clucking and prodding. Sometimes the hack is just scared because that hedge looks really big and he can't see what's on the other side, and I can chivvy him over it. Sometimes he's right, and I have no clue what I was getting us into, and we go down in a heap.

It's a process.
  • Current Music
    Harry Belafonte - Brown Skin Girl
bear by san

Every so often you need a little Shriekback.


Horny little devils, happy little souls
Might as well put your faith in rock and roll

I love these guys.

I have just sealed my fate with the Oxfordians. These guys have very little sense of humor about fiction. I will expect a fatwa on behalf of the good name of Edward de Vere, which I have so grossly besmirched, v. soon.
  • Current Music
    Shriekback - Everything's On Fire
bear by san

Writing is a glamorous profession.

It must be: its major occupational hazards include obesity, suicide, alcoholism, divorce, and hemorrhoids.

Where else can you get potential for carnage like that?


Humorous Elizabethan pornography. In verse.

I found this rather laugh-out-loud hysterical. Apparently impotence and nymphomania were funny 400 years ago, too.


Words today: 2,920
Reason for stopping: End of scene, hallelujah, and time to cook dinner and play with the boy.
  • Current Music
    Incredible String Band - Dear Old Battlefield
bear by san

Good night, Sweet Eleanor, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest:

Somehow, I can't help but think that Katharine Hepburn made more of a contribution to the progression of the planet in her 96 years than Strom Thurmond managed to prevent in his even hundred.

Eleanor of Aquitaine: What would you have me do? Give out? Give up? Give in?
Henry II, King of England: Give me a little peace.
Eleanor of Aquitaine: A little? Why so modest? How about eternal peace? Now there's a thought.
  • Current Music
    Shriekback - Hammerheads