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I woke up early this morning to go see someone about getting some dental work tightened up. I got the ham-fisted assistant again. Lovely.

When I arrived back at my house I went to my computer to check my email and also to catch up on my WebComics and other things like that. That’s when I came across my open pages on horses.

Friesian horses to be precise.

friesian horse

Just look at that wonderful creature.

I had been meaning to do some research on the breed for part of my writing. Back in the day their close ancestors made up some of the finest warhorses in all the world. Strong, tall, and fast, they were everything you’d want in a valuable warhorse. In context and at the time, all of these pages made a lot of sense.

This morning not so much.

I realized pretty quickly how strange all of these open pages seemed out of context. I don’t work with horses, and I’m not particularly enamored with them, so knowing the basics on horse-breeding, pedigree, and other general things like that aren’t really things that need to be bouncing around in my head.

Looking back I’ve noticed this happens a lot. My internet and library history resembles that of an eclectic, history-obsessed old man with nothing better to do with his free time. Byzantine medicine, Medieval metallurgy, Damascus steel, heraldry, old-timey animals and legends, and a hell of a lot more obscure than that.

I feel like even if I wasn’t interested in writing, my search history would still be incredibly odd just because I’d still love the same things, just maybe not as passionately. But wanting to write about it makes me feel like I need to really know what I’m talking about. It makes me very paranoid about my topics, because I would rather not botch something tremendously even if it only comes up once. Readers like to assume that the author knows what they’re talking about. Breaking that confidence in the author can ruin immersion in a text something awful. I’d rather not have that happen over something as easy to research as horses. If I’m going to botch something I’d rather it be something like an obscure genus of citrus fruit that can grow in a certain climate but someone says they can’t grow such things there.

You know, things so little that maybe one person will be legitimately bothered by it. That doesn’t mean I won’t be thorough, but stressing every tiny detail to that degree would probably give me an aneurysm. Not to mention I’d never get down to writing I’d be so busy fact-checking for the next forty years.

But, I digress.

People who write and want to write are weird, huh? I’ve spent more time looking at women’s clothing from the 12th and 13th Century than I really care to admit openly, and I think I know a little too much about how to develop and take care of dreadlocks the pre-Industrial way. And how to make Nordic hair dye from back in the days of the vikings. Those boys loved their blonde hair.

In any case, this was just the first of what I’m sure will be many discoveries in my writing process. I’ve been exhausted lately from the heat, otherwise I would write more on this. I’ll probably write a part two tomorrow when I have more energy and a lot more willpower to siphon my thoughts through the keyboard.

Until next time!

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