i fill my life up with time, asleep in the vine
The most glorious mess of a thunderstorm just roared over the hills -- all blinding rain and howls of thunder and the thick scent of sweat and dust rising, expelled, from the earth. The sky's been green. I had to light all the candles I could and shrug into my white lace skirt (to go with, you know, my folkloretastic Vampires Beware t-shirt...), and now I feel rather compelled to share with you the music I was listening to when the brunt of the storm hit, which happens to be this crazy raucous Victorian street punkfolk, with lots of group shouting and singing saw and accordion and stuff. ♫ "Honey in the Hair" by Blackbird Raum. This is totally research for my novel. Totally. In, um, a frame-of-mind sort of way? I have to get into young Rue Caruthers*' mind somehow, yes? And this is exactly what he would have listened to. No really. (Also wondering, really, how close might street music have got to this back then? Research topic three hundred and nine: London musical culture, high and low, at the turn of the century.) Also, er, apparently Stuff Mr Caruthers Would Have Listened To As A Young Victorian Punk is my new musical kink (see also: Arcade Fire, Rose Kemp, Pale Young Gentlemen, Patrick Wolf, Dark Dark Dark... are you kidding, of course I'm making a mix).
On the subject of the ever-present Novel, I wrote this bit late last night, and upon waking it seemed awfully anachronistic. Thoughts?
“Your hair,” he said, making a vague gesture with his pen, “is sort of… exploding.”
“Brilliant,” hissed Evangeline, and she stalked - really stalked - towards the lavatory.
Context: thunderstorm of doom, Evy comes into work soaked and cranky. I think my subconscious is trying to show that Evy and Mr Caruthers have a fairly comfortable, bantering relationship (which they do). But is this a believable exchange between a thirty-five-year-old man and a twenty-two-year-old woman (who works for him, though they are good friends) in 1912? For one thing, brilliant wasn't slang for fantastic the way it is now, yes? (Also, good slang terms for "shut up", both in a friendly bantering way as between Evy and her sisters, and a rather intensely rude way as between Mr Caruthers and Some Buearucrat who's all "so, yeah, Miss Nox, he kind of has this Shady Dark Past which I would be delighted to misinform you about"? I can go to hp_britglish or little_details if I have to.)
* I CANNOT ESCAPE RUPERT. I SHOULD HAVE GIVEN IN LONG AGO. also his youthful nickname is so not ironic slightly bad-punly foreshadowing shut up I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS ANYWAY.
Er, on the subject of music and also vampires... this is the first song that's properly mine that I've properly recorded. ♫ Black is the Colour of My True Love's Heart, in which, as usual, I hear a traditional ballad and just know there's an alternate version out there in which he's a vampire and she has to kill him what is wrong with me. Anyway, there's a flaily first attempt at music production in here, too, consisting of me making weird noises with my mother's African thumb piano and then manipulating and repeating them in two different ways. I don't even know if it works, I've been messing with this song for so long.
On the subject of the ever-present Novel, I wrote this bit late last night, and upon waking it seemed awfully anachronistic. Thoughts?
“Your hair,” he said, making a vague gesture with his pen, “is sort of… exploding.”
“Brilliant,” hissed Evangeline, and she stalked - really stalked - towards the lavatory.
Context: thunderstorm of doom, Evy comes into work soaked and cranky. I think my subconscious is trying to show that Evy and Mr Caruthers have a fairly comfortable, bantering relationship (which they do). But is this a believable exchange between a thirty-five-year-old man and a twenty-two-year-old woman (who works for him, though they are good friends) in 1912? For one thing, brilliant wasn't slang for fantastic the way it is now, yes? (Also, good slang terms for "shut up", both in a friendly bantering way as between Evy and her sisters, and a rather intensely rude way as between Mr Caruthers and Some Buearucrat who's all "so, yeah, Miss Nox, he kind of has this Shady Dark Past which I would be delighted to misinform you about"? I can go to hp_britglish or little_details if I have to.)
* I CANNOT ESCAPE RUPERT. I SHOULD HAVE GIVEN IN LONG AGO. also his youthful nickname is so not ironic slightly bad-punly foreshadowing shut up I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS ANYWAY.
Er, on the subject of music and also vampires... this is the first song that's properly mine that I've properly recorded. ♫ Black is the Colour of My True Love's Heart, in which, as usual, I hear a traditional ballad and just know there's an alternate version out there in which he's a vampire and she has to kill him what is wrong with me. Anyway, there's a flaily first attempt at music production in here, too, consisting of me making weird noises with my mother's African thumb piano and then manipulating and repeating them in two different ways. I don't even know if it works, I've been messing with this song for so long.