research highs, and the annual dilemma
What I want to know is, when you are researching and come across an amazing fact (eg, running with toes turned inward is more efficient), do you not want to grab the nearest person and say "Did you know...." or "guess what I just found out"? Well, I would. I also confess I tried to test the toes turned inward theory. I'm not a runner by any stretch of the imagination so, alas, couldn't really tell if it made the task any easier but I could imagine what a difference it made to Elizabeth after her years of boot-wearing.The short answer? Yes, people who write historical fiction tend to be dweeb/nerdy types who get excited over little details and love to share them. My experience of sitting down with other authors who write the same stuff I do is a hilarious conversation that would strike a non-participant as decidedly weird. I've been known to wake my husband up late at night -- to read him something. Listen to this is the cue that he can go back to sleep as long as he mumbles something positive sounding whenever I say, isn't that interesting? I especially like reading footnotes in historical treatments, because all the quirky details are in the footnotes. That's where I got the tall priest using a huge crucifix to wade into the enemy, which I then transformed into a key character in Fire Along the Sky.
On another matter entirely, this is the time of year when I am cast into long bouts of worry about vacations. Usually one or all of us goes to England for a week or more at some point, to visit Bill's family. However, we like to also have a week away someplace together, if it can be arranged. Or better said: if I can find a way to arrange something that will make everybody happy. The requirements are simple:
1. I want to take the dogs. This rules out Hawaii, the east coast, and pretty much everything that isn't without two day's drive. It also puts severe restrictions on where we stay. What I'd like most of all is to find a beach house where they'd be welcome. I don't like sitting on the beach, but I do like walking on them. And so do the puppy boys.
2. Bill wants to climb a mountain. A big mountain, preferably one with glaciers and difficult ascents. Failing that, he'd like to camp in the deepest wilderness. Of course, my idea of roughing it is a three star hotel.
3. The girlchild wants (this year, at least) a huge amusement park with crazy, dizzy making rides. Orlando would be good, because there's lots of stuff there. She wants to bring one friend along. Or three. Failing that, she'd like a week at the Plaza in Manhattan. Money? What's that? And of course Bill would rather give up a tooth than spend a week in Manhattan.
So it's up to me to somehow make these three visions come together. Yes, I know: I should extract myself from this and refuse to be put in the middle, but it never works out that way. I've been roaming the web looking longingly at beach houses on Vancouver Island and in Oregon, making overtures at the dinner table. Look at this, say I. A hot tub and a fireplace and a mile of sandy beach! Bill looks noncommital, but the girlchild is openly contemplating filing for emancipation. The puppy boys, at least, are grinning at me.
If I wait long enough, nothing will be available anywhere and we won't do anything. But I'll be so exhausted by the process of not finding something, I won't mind anymore.
Another question tomorrow.