A Gentile Life Of Letters

I hit 30,000 words over the weekend — in spite of losing an entire day to Sim City by sitting down to it before lunch and looking up at 5:00 — and have set it aside so I can scribble out a roadmap for Scapegoat.

Or ScapeGoat. Or The Scapegoat Gambit. Or even Love’s Scapegoat.

Escapegoat. Something.

Scapegoat. Right.

No plot.

I have a lovely opening scene (any story that starts with an exploding goat has something going for it), and I think I know that the book ends with a siege and magical carnage and true love winning out in a very Gilbert and Sullivan sort of way. And I know that, if PG Wodehouse had written The Black Company, this book would bear it a haunting resemblance.

So. I should make certain there are tangled skeins of romantic thread lying about. And everyone should have a reason to be very angry at the protag, and many of the reasons should be, at best, spurious.

*blinks*

Question for the Brain Trust: Is the common Wodehouse subplot –

A and B love one another
A and B cannot be together because of C (and perhaps D, who supports C and has authority over A)
A and B both blame the protag for C’s actions and D’s pig-headishness, and look to him (the protag) for resolving the crisis
D blames the protag when A and B are together, and C threatens the protag with bodily harm –

?

Then, of course, Jeeves finds a way (Jeeves always finds a way) so that A and B can be together, C supports it, and the protag has to step lively and get out of town before the blokes with the sacks of feathers get together with the fellows with the tar pot, and come to discuss what’s fashionable in mob apparel. Frequently with an aunt leading the parade and waving a torch.

Right, then. I gauge that, under the current weather condtions, no less than two romances will be needed. Perhaps 2 and a half.

And goats. Lots of goats. Clearly.

EDIT — I have the broad outlines of plot. The world is a brighter place, and I find that I have faith in my ability to traverse this next month’s pass. I just remembered; I know how to write. I can do this.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry

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