(no subject)

Today is one of those days when I have a great desire to be wise and witty. The only witty thing I can think of is by Alexander Pope which puts me in a sad, sad way. I keep wanting to see a dog with a modern version of "I am HIs Highness's dog at Kew; pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?" on its collar. Not really witty and mostly not even by me, but then, as I said, I am incapable of it today. I feel neither wise nor witty, nor able to write the 4000 words that really ought to be done somehow. I feel very capable of sleeping.

Since I can't really ask friends to write my 4000 words, anyone willing to be wise and witty for me? Aphorisms about historical fiction will be particularly admired.

(no subject)

I have written 2500 words of deathless academic prose today. It is deathless because it is mummified. If there is any life in it then I will be accused (as often happens in these cases) of being discursive and I will have to tighten things up and render them dull and lifeless. Also deathless. You cannot kill what has no life.

The subject is absorbing, even if I am really not enamoured of writing in a scholarly style. I am looking at how writers of historical fiction and historical fantasy deal with that delicate balance between finding markets for their work and following their dream. This is just one facet of my bigger project on the relationship of fiction writers with medieval history. I love this project. Next year I might look for a publisher for it; this year I did this article because it gave me a chance to explore some byways and to try for a refereed journal.

Tomorrow I have to do a major revision of the draft article and write a conclusion and fix up the appendices. But tonight I am off the hook and can write my last thousand words in pure, glorious, living fiction. What a novel idea...