It’s done. Things I learned while writing it: Montgomery Bell could have given Ebenezer Scrooge a run for his money and there’s simply no way to make Adelicia Acklen not creepy as fuck. I mean, I get the whole “all rich white Southerners were doing it” thing, but her husbands excelled at it. And we have her to thank for Huddy Ledbetter, in a round about way, since she owned and sold the plantations Angola prison now sits on.
One thing I do appreciate about her is that she had her husband, Mr. Franklin, who died down in Louisiana, preserved in whiskey to be brought back here for burial. That is hard-core and awesome.
And now I need to start drafting the final story. I feel good about that. I was telling the Professor last night that I just want to build in some time where I can be away from it for a second, come at it again with fresh eyes.
Tiny Cat Pants 