Reading:
1. First of all, I had to set aside David Starkey’s Six Wives, because I had maxed out my library renewals. I’ll pick it up again later. I was confusing myself by skimming ahead to the Anne Boleyn chapters anyway.
2. I am nearing the end of Rodney Bolt’s History Play: The Lives and Afterlife of Christopher Marlowe. It gets more charming by the page. Thank goodness, Kit has just escaped an assassination attempt in Deptford and gone underground in Antwerp. It’s a shame that all the plays he’ll write from now on will be attributed to that “upstart crow,” William Shakespeare. But at least the dashing Kit is still alive and more importantly, still producing great literature.
3. I started Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol as a read-aloud with Number-One Daughter a couple of nights ago. Ah, Dickens. Can’t beat him for sheer exuberance of language. Last night, my son joined in listening, though when we stopped, he informed me that the illustrated paperback version he had just read to himself was “better.” Patience, Mom. He’s only nine.
Writing:
1. I still like the idea of using poetry in my current WIP. I have allowed myself to add letters and journal entries for two of the characters. Wimping out? No. But plopping butt in chair and writing a bad love sonnet at 5 a.m. is not as easy as some might think.