I am rewatching the 1996 movie That is the one with a very young Leo DeCaprio, with the brilliant Mercutio, played by Harold Perrineau. That whole moody, aggressive, brittle thing is very much of that time, early modern roaring boys. They were perfectly ready to die by violence. But WS was a phlegmatic plodder in daily life. He tended more to lawsuits than fistfights or knife fights. Just as well, he was a late bloomer. If he had died young like the university wits we would have been left with nothing. (There is a lesson there somewhere about thinking writers have a particular way of being . You don't have to be showy, or angsty, or damaged to be be a 'real' writer. You just have to write.)
Also-- as I think I have said before, if miserable childhoods made writers of people, we would be hip deep in Eugene O Neils.
It is doing spring rain here today. Hazel does not approve-- but I like it. The grass is green and the flowers are out. We have crocus and daffs. About time, sez I.
In the grocery store today I was listening to Tam Lin. (The Sandy Denny version.) Realized that Janet is a total badass. She was not going to let anyone push her around. Not the fairies, not her father, not Tam Lin himself. She is brave, and self-assured, and dammit, she is going flower picking!
I am working away on some Horatio and Archie smut. Slow going. I write slow, and I find sex scenes hard to write. So easy to do them poorly. I am always afraid they will be funny in the wrong way. Or that someone will end up with three arms. So, a few more days I would say.