blythely

Somehow in the last three months I've managed to write a bit. I was inspired to write an outtake for Planning Permission, for the Good Omens Minisode Minibang, and while I didn't sign up for it (which would have immediately been the kiss of death, no doubt) I've been trying to keep to their schedule and have something finished by ~December~

Maaaayyybe that will happen?

One of the challenges of writing Good Omens fic, and Planning Permission was a prime example of this, was trying to decide exactly what historical moments to land Aziraphale and Crowley in. You want settings that are rich enough in cultural meaning that they say something new about the characters; narrative challenges that make sense when interweaved into the plot (or provide plot! I am lazy); enough assumption of shared knowledge that your readers will know where you are, but not travel the clogged Dickens-Robin Hood-Shakespeare-Viking (etc) highways. A nice scenic B road, but not so obscure that readers need Exposition Bob leading the way.

So anyhow I've accomplished ABSOLUTELY NONE of that. I set my story in prehistory, from the Palaeolithic to Neolithic. Zero characters from history, mostly obscure megalithic and archaeological sites, and I did not let angel and demon interact for an inordinately cruel period of time. This story is the literal definition of self-indulgent, if you are an anthropologist who thinks about the evolution of culture and human-environment-meaning all the time (i.e. me). I suspect it is going to be Quite Niche, and without Circe to steer plot and tension I have to kick my own ass to reign in my worst excesses.

To be fair C is a doll who makes excellent suggestions every time I say HALP I CAN'T WRITE WITHOUT U. She is just very busy, but also recognises that my stone age shenanigans are best worked through solo. She will owe me a Richard III comedy though.

So I've got 13k words, and one part (of five in total) plus some moderately annoying editing left to do. Hopeful to have it done by year's end. I will eye some of you for beta.

I would like the story to have some clever and all-encompassing title like PP, but unless I go with a saddo pompous line from Job, it's going to end up where it started, which is from Aziraphale musing on the external of Durham Cathedral: He takes a photograph of the weathered sandstone at the entrance. Az sends his picture to Crowley, texting:

What’s your earliest memory on this island?

Then later gets this:

Yep. It's called Stone circle-y times. Sigh.