“Tortured, unaided, and alone”, by Arthur B. Frost in Lewis Carroll’s Rhyme? and Reason?
I wrote over a thousand words today - footnoted! Writing history is a pain. There’s a story to tell, for sure. But when you write the flow is constantly interrupted with backing the narrative with citations. I find that I know what I want to say, I often know precisely how I want to say it. You know, sentences flowing, one into the other, terrific verb choices for imagery, subjects not left amorphous but narrowed down to individuals …
England did not fight France in the Battle of Minorca. Both England and France are rocks, immovable, inanimate. The Royal Navy, that’s better, but how about the admirals, the names of the ships, - damn it, the jack-tars are people, too!
In fact, crafting prose as close to the very individuals involved, matching them up with verbs and what they did is a tedious endeavor. Now add that paper trail. Gad, my neck hurts just thinking about it.
My reward is I am closer to finishing this book. I get to put #AmWriting on my twitter feed. I get to take ibuprofen. Seriously, historical writing is a thinking person’s field of torture. Maybe Lewis Carroll was right, choosing to write history involves pain, pure pain, “Tortured, unaided, and alone.” Damn, that’s dark.
OK. I’m done.