Stumbled into a bit of quicksand yesterday.
Flailed around ineffectually for a few hours.
Put myself to bed shortly thereafter feeling a complete failure.
And that was my Friday. How was yours?
Sarcasm aside, my writing efforts yesterday sucked.
I realized, to my abject and total horror, that I can’t write late colonial dialogue to save my life. This could be a small problem to a girl starting on a 100K word Revolutionary War-era romance.
Hence the quicksand-flailing hours.
Years of being Panic’s whore, however, have made me either remarkably thick-skinned or remarkably foolhardy when it comes to these “little” stumbling blocks. (After all, how important is dialogue really? *smirks*)
After a quick but fervent visit with Samuel Richardson’s “Pamela” and Fanny Burney’s “Evelina” (two wonderful 18th century sources for Colonial manner of speaking), I plan to soldier on, right back into said-quicksand with a hardy laugh and a devil-may-care attitude…
So, this could get really ugly.
Or this could get really, really good.
P.S. Monarch butterflies are migrating through north Florida this week. I took this picture yesterday.