Much to my astonishment, the Grass King rewrites actually started behaving, finally, and flowing and working. Of course, they waited until 6.45 pm to do so, having played coy all afternoon. But after several hours of type-and-delete, I have 1078 new shiny words, and a conviction that the blasted book is going to end up even longer. Bah. At least, Aude's childhood (as included in the book) is getting longer.
Writing about religion is hard. Why, she asked herself, do I end up in such situations. My characters don't agonise over shoes or even each other (well not that much, anyway), but the nature of faith, or the consequences of private land ownership, or the relationship between power and responsibility. Pages n' pages. That's what I get for being a historian, I guess.
Skirt of the day: jeans, it's still cold.