I’ve been working away on my next Sinclair Sister’s novel. I keep getting interrupted with other work. Hoo boy. However, having realized the other day that I had started the book in the wrong place—
Actually, that gives an incorrect impression that somehow I would have known the REAL chapter 1, if only I were a smarter, better, writer. What I should say is I realized that my current chapter 15 would be an EXCELLENT chapter 1 and that the book will be much much better for moving all the chapters around. It happens that that are currently only two chapters after 15. When I wrote my actual first words, they were a place for me to jump in.
NOW I can get to my post
Anyway, I’ve been working on Lucy and Thrale and thinking about them a lot even though because of all the interruptions I haven’t gotten in as many words as I’d like. And then I realized that I need a place for Thrale to live. I gave him a vague location in Lord Ruin, but now I need to know about the interior and his relationship to it.
This meant I pulled out my reference books to start looking at pictures and diagrams and about five minutes later I started getting annoyed at whoever deiced homes should be build with 8 ft ceilings instead of 10 or 12 feet and THEN I started wondering about the kind of ethos in which a class of persons, who cannot help but see people living in squalid homes, build themselves houses that big and that spacious.
Sometimes, when I’m staring out my window thinking about a plot point, or character issue, I think wouldn’t it be nice to be a bird? Because then I wouldn’t have to go to work. I’d just flit around all day looking for seeds or bugs or what have you. Plus, birds don’t stay up too late and then remember 4.5 hours later why it was a bad idea to keep reading :::damnalarmclock:::
And THEN I remember that birds also do not have grocery stores. They have to get their own food ALL THE TIME and there are predators who think of them as dinner.
There WAS such a thing as Bad Taste
And so, as I flip through the pages of my Lost Mansions of Mayfair, glad, after all, that I am not a bird, I see photographic evidence of people with a lot more money than most. Some of them built big houses and then decorated the decorations until you think your eyes might actually bleed. It is in fact, possible to go too far with the bling. Seriously. There must have been some snickering going on with people who thought bling is an additive property. MORE!! MORE!!! Byzantene Good. Rococo Great! Byzantine AND Rococo BETTTER!!!!!
Then again, suppose you hired cheap with the architectural work and when you come see your new home for the first time? GAHHHHH!!! And you blew your wad on someone who thinks there’s no such thing as too busy.
While I’m on the subject, sometimes I see pictures of period gowns and I think the dress is ugly. There. I said it. Some of those dresses had too much frilly crap all over the place.
So, what kind of house does Thrale have? I think maybe his father had awful taste…..
ETA: Sorry about the late post! I put the wrong date when I scheduled it. Sheesh.
Not sure about Thrale’s house. I do feel the same way about the over-decoration of some houses. I didn’t have that reaction so much in England, where I did admire much of the design (especially Adam style). More so when I visited the Newport, RI mansions with Gail Eastwood last summer. Some were lovely but so many were overkill. Individual elements of the decoration were lovely, but the eye needed a place to rest…
I’m not sure I would be brave enough to record what floats through my head while I’m trying to write. Except “must not go for any more Hershey’s nuggets”.
Love your train of thought. Reminds me of me when I’m trying to write a book!
I do love nicknacks. My house is probably filled with too many of them!
My train of thought usually makes stops at “Where’s that research book? You know, the one with the thing about the thing.”
and “I thought I had another bag of M&M’s in the fridge.”
and “How many staircases does this house have? What did I just write?”
By the end of a book, however, I can stroll through my hero or heroine’s house like I own the place.