That is not what this post is about.
The Franks, and France itself, derived their name from the francisca, a personal throwing ax characteristic of their people. It's theorized the word is related to their word for freedom, as well - but the thing itself was called a francisca, and it is from this word the others were born.
I find the "freedom" association appealing, am essentially undecided as to actually believing it, and omitted it entirely for the purposes of The Ax and the Vase. It was unnecessary (if not outright inappropriate) for me thematically, and if I am honest, I've had about enough Braveheart-style historical fiction which overlays "history" with extremely overt modern sensibilities. (Feel the same about feminist anachronism as well, but that has already been another post I'm pretty sure, and goes WAY beside the point.) Hated Braveheart for a hundred other reasons anyway. Very much enjoy "Kingdom of Heaven" in spite of this same tendency (... and the declamatory dialogue). Grew up on Cecil B. DeMille's good intentions applying a certain mild attempt at civil rights thinking in biblical epics. I wouldn't be able to execute social or political statements at all smoothly myself, and I really feel a lot of this stuff had nothing to do with the task I had before myself.
Clovis is surrounded by much legend, some of it irrisistible even if patently imaginary - but the francisca is one of those few known quantities, an (arti)fact with the most wonderful solidity. There weren't many primary sources, so as I have pointed out, archaeology - particularly archaeology of tombs and grave goods - was perhaps the sole source I had to build a real world around a character perhaps even more elusive than his physical surroundings. Burial evidence is an interesting way to learn about a society, perhaps offering as much misleading information as indicators of practical use. But its detritus *can* give the lie to certain presumptions about filthy barbarians; and it's simply interesting in its own right, what has been preserved. And this is the happy occasion when being fascinated by research doesn't distract from writing and work, which can be an easy problem to fall into.
Research on Clovis was hard, but it was exciting, and the work on the novel in progress is already dizzyingly different. Where in the same period, one story was difficult to find, demanding use of legend to fill in facts and acts unavailable - the second work (yet untitled; though it will come) happens to include much more written history. Sure, some of it is Procopian sensation-mongering - but, even with yellow journalism, the simple availability of sources is almost unbelievably different.
This, along with the differences in structure and theme - this novel will follow three main characters; all women, and following in successive generations - will make this work a very different one. I look forward to seeing it build and deepen, and already see some methods available to me I would never have used, writing Clovis' world of men and battle. The two will share in my writing voice, so can't be but so unalike; but the opportunity here is pleasurable ... to have another focus, to escape a first-prson point of view, to explore another setting.
I was exhilerated, working on Clovis, but overjoyed when I completed the manuscript. I still look forward to making "Ax" as marketable as it can be; am open to editing and polishing. But working on the new piece, it is gratifying to feel the fire lit once again.
And so I go now - to poke around my house, as I do on Saturday, and to savor, too, some breaks in which I will be able to research the new work.
From axes now to secret histories ... and a bit of dusting and Swiffing.
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