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Tag: life

  • In the Time of Plague

    In the Time of Plague

    It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve written a blog post, and a treacherous ten days of deciding whether to feed or starve this cold or flu, whatever it is. And it’s been eight days since I’ve had the presence of mind to compose anything at all.

    As it happens, it is also time to be thinking about The 1665 Plague of London, a sequel to The Great Plague and a perfect driving force to whip up my story arcs and throw a little danger in the mix.

    Not that I need danger, I think as I blow my nose and grab another hand full of tissues, because my Quaker characters are living in a police state at this point, moving in and out of jail, fighting the good fight and so on. What I really need is to make it sound compelling, to put the reader there in the midst of it all.

    I had threatened to quit in my last blog entry, for lack of time to write. Then as our own mini plague set in at the Lawrence residence I had time to write while Eddie was sleeping late, recovering. I was suddenly inspired with the idea to do what I’ve always done as a reader–skip to the end and see how things go. Sure enough, the scene where Thomas Lightfoot escapes certain death while the prison billows into a conflagration around him was just the ticket. Even when he was up and about Eddie was more help than hindrance with his experience as a firefighter and interest in getting the technical aspects of the scene correct.

    I still have to go back and write the scenes of Charles II’s public and private marriage ceremonies, which promises hours of painfully deep research. Oh if it were only true I could get ChatGPT to write it! But then it would be full of anachronisms.

    In time it will get done. And that will be Part II, the goal of 100,000 words met, and my story only 2/3 complete.

    Sigh… I need to go lie down again.

  • The Monster Within

    The Monster Within

    I recently saw on a history program that Frederick Douglass had a “thinking cabin” the family called The Growlery. One can imagine him stomping straight to his cabin at the end of a hard day in politics and growling away at the walls. He was like so many brilliant creators who have been known for their tempers, especially when they needed privacy to create.

    So I was not surprised to hear this, but I was incredibly jealous. A cabin to go to, and people leave you alone.

    Sometimes I want to scream, “LET ME WRITE!” but my daughter keeps bringing these absolutely delightful foster grandchildren to the house and they can’t be denied. As Bluey teaches us, there will always be another time to watch a game…or to do the actually important things Mum and Dad must do. Ok not really a fan of the spoilt children show, but I do see that there is only a short window of time for toddlers and it must be cherished. Though I did admit the other day I chose writing time over Grandma time.

    And I actually feel a bit bad about that choice on that day, because so far, the folks who promise to read my Chapter 1 (I never ask for more–let Chapter 1 do the heavy lifting of enticing readers if it can), never offer any feedback. Except my sister, who decided to start editing it and then got too busy. Which is probably for the best.

    But as I also mentioned in my Writing in Absentia post, I have a whole 17th century universe in my head. It is an accumulation of researched facts that begs to be shared, and a budding love story, a boy in prison, changes in dynasties, and new worlds, and so on! GAH!

    I did have a desk once. As the primary income earner working remotely, there was always an office somewhere as we flipped our way through houses. But then I retired and I gave away my desk. Instead I’m writing from the comfort of my recliner with a lap desk. The cat tries to worm her way in between me and my laptop, but we have developed a deal where she gets her attention at 4pm. Or did.

    And I say these things in past tense because now I have stopped writing. Period. I am attempting to shed myself of my own love story with my book and my characters, and focus instead on the children and on spending my time with my husband (who to be fair just had a scary thing happen with his heart). And let me be clear for your commiseration that spending time with the hubby means endless hours of television or running errands. Frederick Douglass would have gone mad.

    The creators of Bluey are right; I will not end my days wishing I’d written more. Well…unless somebody reads my Chapter 1 and says, “Oh my gosh this is an incredible story–when are you going to finish it?!” Which might be my dream or my nightmare at this point.

    I must tell you, though, that there is a monster within me, and it’s bloody well uptight.