I’m catching up on wordcount at the moment, so I’m not blogging as much as I’d like. When I’ve recovered from WisCon, expect some more of the Catherine Cookson Experience, a pile of Questionable Taste Theatres, and a response to Darin Bradley’s challenge.

In the meantime, mad respect to these dancers, who have better spacial memory than I ever will.

Even more respect to the dancers of the period, who did this dance in crowded, smoky rooms, basically in the dark (candles never give off more light than absolutely necessary, the bastards), forty pounds of embroidered clothing, shoes with no demarcated left and right, and the stench of unwashed humanity constantly crawling up their noses. Ah, romance!