Still (Still! Forever!) researching mid-seventeenth century England. Said research having devolved into reading trashy novels set in the period—and I'm reading just about the trashiest yet—I should probably stop calling this research. Today I was going to write something really scathing about the novel I'm on right now, especially about how this one character can live in a London slum and have all kinds of spectacular clothes (she's a courtesan) without her lodgings getting robbed while she's out on the town, and then I got sidetracked with costuming. I've noticed that many writers avoid the difficulties of describing period clothing simply by never telling you what people are wearing. Some writers might mention that a character dresses herself, without giving any details, before running outside to meet her fancy man, while other writers skip the topic entirely. For all you've been told, their characters are running around butt-naked.
Admittedly, really detailed descriptions of clothes don't move the plot along and are likely to provoke critical letters from historical re-enactors. But I find it difficult to step into a character's shoes unless I know how high the heels are and whether they're tied with ribbons.
So while I was looking up periwigs this evening, I wandered into the lair of the Salacious Historian and I haven't managed to extricate myself yet. Look at the pictures! I've been examining collars, sleeves, and the cuts of coats for the last hour. The Dutch pages are particularly useful because they depict more middle and working class people in everyday situations.
I'm so easily sidetracked. I loved playing dress-up as a child (despite my nearly complete deprivation of suitable princess outfits—I had to be creative) and that impulse transfers seamlessly to dressing up my imaginary friends.
293 words | August 29, 2005 09:05 PM | Real true story