After a rough day of writing yesterday and considering many things that my writing group (of one) asked me/made me think about, I have decided to remove one of the characters.  One of my favorite characters, mind you.  Not that it’s a real tragedy–he’ll come back in later on and will have a starring role in both the second and third books.  Well…in the third, at least.  It’s just sad, because he contributes so much to the opening scenes.  He’s funny and cute and charming…

It’s just so hard.  I’m really supposed to be letting go of this old character and establishing the new one, and it’s not as easy as it sounds.  I want her to still be a badass, but she’s really just a frightened girl trying to figure things out for herself.  She needs to be unsure of things at times, even when she knows that she has to put forward this front of knowing it all and self-confidence…  Because that’s what she does.  That’s her role.

So now, after finally establishing some momentum yesterday, I need to dive back in and rework the whole thing.  Get into a Zen meditation and immerse myself or something so that everything’s consistent and flows and is funny.  That’s not asking much, is it?

I still haven’t had an opportunity to really sit down and write, so I’m still using research as an excuse.  No.  Not an excuse.  As a valid activity to be working on while I’m unable to get any writing done.  That’s better.  And my new favorite book is Uppity Women of the Renaissance by Vicki Leon.  She also has others in the series–I’m thinking I’ll also have to check out Uppity Women of Medieval Times as well.  After reading the somewhat snoozy tome that was Barbara Swain’s Fools and Folly During the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Vicky is just what I needed.  Every entry is about two pages long, and each one is funny and informative and chock full of good ideas and inspiration.  And so much debate about Lucrezia Borgia.  Did she or didn’t she with Daddy and big brother?  The current biography I’m reading–Sarah Bradford’s, I think–claims that the accusation is absurd.  All gossip and rumor.  Not certain what to believe exactly.  Not certain that it really matters.  Here I thought Lucrezia was the perfect role model for one of my characters, but now…  I’ll finish the biography and see what I think when I’m done.  I don’t like it when biographers become complete advocates for their subjects and defend them at every possible turn.  It’s not like Lucrezia was perfect–there had to be some reason for all those rumors.

But dear Barbara was by far the winner of this weekend’s reading extravaganza.  Fools and Folly is by far the most…unlikely of books.  She doesn’t really go into jesters and fools as actual people.  Well–she does, but it’s only one chapter, and even then it’s done very carefully and intellectually.  Almost like Sam Danon teaching a class over Beaudelaire.  Fools need to fit into Barbara’s theories, and if they don’t, then they are studiously ignored.  And she’s not very good at giving the reasons why.  She gives all these fabulous examples of Medieval attitudes towards fools (many from Latin and Roman poets/philosophers and some that I had never read before, so quite interesting), but then suddenly states that with Solomon and Marcolf, the roles of wise man and fool traded places.  OK.  That’s great.  Why?  And then she mentions that that “Death destroys both the wise man and the fool.”  So what?  How does this help the fool triumph?  Perhaps I didn’t read closely enough, but I wasn’t getting it.  And how did this reconcile itself with the medieval views of fools that she had just been describing for the past few chapters?  And where do the real jesters come in?  I suppose none of this matters to her thesis, but I wanted something a little bit more comprehensive.  Perhaps I was too tired and reading too quickly (doesn’t help when I leave reading the Interlibrary Loan books–you know, the ones that can’t be renewed–until the last minute).  I’ll read over my notes and try again.