First, a note. Posting here is going to continue to be sporatic until after the new year. You never know when I’ll post, but it will probably only be once a week or so. However, I am lining up guests for January, and hope to be in the swing of things with the start of 2012!

~*~

Sometimes research leads you to abandon a promising plotline.

I was writing my Beauty and the Beast story and realized that the Beast’s aunt needed to be in the story. So I threw in an older middle-aged woman, and made her slightly cantankerous and bossy but with a heart of gold, and then I realized she was a dreadful stereotype. So I tried to think of a distinctly Irish-type character who was not a stereotype.

That’s when I thought about making her a nun.

Yeah, so among the Irish, having a nun for an aunt is kind of stereotypical. Even I have one. (Well, she was a great aunt.) But not all of us are Irish, are we? And my experience reading in fiction certainly does not include many nuns.

I wish Aunty Peg were still alive, because she would have been a girl during the time I am writing this story. She would remember what it was like. I know what nuns and convents were like when I was a girl; I very much had an Irish upbringing, despite being born in the United States.

I even stayed in a convent for a week when I was 11. We were in the midst of moving during the Christmas, and Sr. Gabriel was one of the only nuns who stayed behind that year during their annual trip back to Ireland. So we stayed with her in the mostly-empty convent. We ran around through the graveyard, played in the choir loft of the adjacent church, peeked into the convent chapel, and drank kettlefuls of tea. You can’t even imagine how fun it was.

This took place in the late 70s, after Vatican II, so the 20th century changes to convent life had already taken place. Reading the Vatican II summaries was interesting, but didn’t have what I needed. Since I didn’t have Aunt Peg, I interviewed my mom to find out if nuns back then were free to move about the community, which I needed in the story. And according to her, they always went about in twos, and were pretty restricted outside the convent. (Although within the convent was another story.)

So it looks like my nun character might not work out. I think I need to dig up some letters or diaries to be certain, or maybe find a nonfiction book. Or maybe I’ll just write her to keep the story going and make any adjustments later. She wouldn’t be the first character I’ve written and thrown away.

Most likely, I’ll morph that character again. She needs to come from a wealthy Irish background. Any ideas?

My NaNo project was a fairy tale retelling of Beauty and the Beast. It started with a bang and I churned out 3500 words in a week. It was a solid start, but I decided to go ahead and finish my semifinal draft of Snow White, so I can hopefully submit both of them in quick succession. So technically, my first foray into NaNoWriMo was an abject failure. But I DID get a finished manuscript by the time November was finished which, for me, was the important thing.

Anyway, for my B&tB story, I have been researching the medical impacts of invisibility.

(If you ever wondered why certain people become writers, then the above sentence should give you all the answer you need. What other useful thing could I do with this imagination of mine?)

First, some background. In the original version of Beauty and the Beast, all the servants were turned invisible as part of the same curse that turned the Beast into a beast. Now, imagine the servants fifteen years later. Surely, there would have been adverse effects from prolonged invisibility.The biggest, I think, would be problems from lack of sunlight. If the sun passes right through you, then you probably don’t absorb much of it.

The biggest problem, I’ve found so far, would be a vitamin D deficiency. This would pose a terrible problem for children, as they would probably develop rickets, a horrifying condition in which the bones soften and twist. Legs become either severely bowlegged or knock-kneed. Ankles turn in. Spines twist. Elbows misshapen. Rickets can also affect adults as their bones soften and warp under the influence of gravity.

Other problems, I think, would include depression and arthritis. In my research stack is a notation to research cabin fever. I will also be tapping the knowledge of my nurse sister, my niece who is studying nursing, and fellow RWA members in the medical field.

I am also brushing off some old research on the history of blood transfusions. B&tB is turning out to be a sort of medical steampunk story, and once, long ago, when I wrote for the Bathroom Reader series (seriously!), I wrote about blood types. So I know all about the long and tragic history of how we discovered blood types and the complexities of Rh factors. Way back when, a blood transfusion was only for the desperate, because there was always a chance you would get the wrong blood type, and then you die.

The young lady at the left is my Aunt Matilda (or actually, my great, great Aunt Matilda), and she was a nurse during the time period in which I am setting this story. Maybe she had personal knowledge of these risky transfusions. Maybe not. But the picture is cool, anyway.

So imagine, if you will, being invisible for fifteen years. Can you think of any adverse affects that I have not thought of?

Can you guys help me? I’m collecting memories.

As I work on my works-in-progress, in the back of my mind is a time travel historical I have started. It basically takes place all throughout the 20th century. Pick a decade. Yup, I have a scene that takes place in that decade.

So what I’m doing is collecting memories. My own grandmother grew up in the 20s, and told me all sort of cool things. Much of it has made it into my story just as little snippets here and there. My dad also has helped with is recollections from the 40s and beyond.

Specifically, I’m looking for road trip memories. What do you remember from road trips in the past that are simply gone today? Part of the reason I like driving up and down US-1 is there are so many old buildings that trigger all these old memories. But my memories only go back as far as the early 70s. Do you have any that go back even further? They don’t have to be your memories; you can get your parents talking about the good old days, and give me a few snippets.

To get you going, here’s a snippet from that time travel story that uses my memories of old hotel rooms:

Adele opened the door and looked around in delight. “Look at that TV! And the phone! Oh, my gosh! Where’s the remote?”

Mike smiled as he kicked the door closed. He noticed with a frown that there was no deadbolt. “Del–they didn’t have remotes back then.”

She peered at the TV. “How do you turn it on?”

He looked at it. No power button. Nothing looked obvious. “I’m not sure.”

“There’s labels on the dials–here’s the volume knob. Oops–here we are!”

The image grew from a dot in the middle. A middle-aged man was reading the news into a microphone with the assistance of some handheld notes.

“Hey, that’s Walter Cronkite,” Mike said.

“Cool! Who’s president, now?”

“Ford, I think–or maybe Nixon.”

“Think they have any discos, now?”

“Del–even if they did, they probably wouldn’t in this small town.”

Adele stood up and looked around some more. “What’s that thing attached to the bed?”

Mike stared at the unfamiliar device. “Is that a coin slot?”

Adele peered at the writing. “Magic Fingers. Sounds indecent. Give me a quarter.”

Mike fished a quarter out of his pocket. Adele put it in the slot. The bed immediately began to vibrate.

“Oh my God,” Adele said. “It is indecent.” She lay down on it.

“Great. Just what I need. To be stuck in a motel room with my sister while she’s feeling indecent.”

I’m not sure if it would have cost a dime or a quarter, but I think I remember it costing a quarter. I got the news description by watching old video clips of Walter Cronkite. As I read this, I realized that I need to describe the phone and other stuff.

Did I trigger any memories for you?

A few weeks ago, I fainted.

Truly.

I have this weird problem with my esophagus where occasionally—once every 5 years or so—something gets out of sync when I swallow cold liquid and my esophagus spasms. Painfully. On the pain scale, this is way up there. I’m just sitting there, unable to do anything, waiting for the pain to pass. And sometimes, I faint. Don’t worry–I went to the hospital the first time it happened, and they diagnosed it as “near syncope”. Which means a partial loss of consciousness. It’s harmless unless I hit my head on the way down.

What I’m going to do for you today is write a Deep Third account of my fainting fit, in present tense. I am also going to have occasional authorial intrusion, because this is not a work of fiction, and therefore, I’m allowed to be me. I wrote this the day after it happened, when it was all fresh in my mind.

~*~

So there I am, with this horrible pain making its way down my esophagus. The water has already hit my stomach, but the spasm is taking own sweet time to get there. I lean against the bed and wonder if I’m going to faint this time. I groan.

The next thing I’m aware of is movement as I realize I am sliding down the bed. I’m not aware of anything else. I’m not aware of any vision. This is not the same as not being able to see. The body can’t miss what it isn’t aware of.

To illustrate, I have a sound test for you. Pop over to this site and take the hearing tests until you reach the frequency where you can no longer hear:

http://www.noiseaddicts.com/2009/03/can-you-hear-this-hearing-test/

It’s kinda weird to play a sound that you know is there, but you can’t hear it, isn’t it? You have no perception of it. As far as you’re concerned, it isn’t there.

Well at that point, my vision wasn’t there.

I’m not aware of any sound, either. And I’m not aware of any pain in my esophagus, but I’m also not aware that anything should be wrong. I have no memory of why I am sliding down the bed, nor am I aware of any loss of memory. I am really only in the now. My legs aren’t involved. I scrabble with my arms to keep on the bed, but it ain’t working. My knees hit the floor.

And then I feel some mild alarm. It’s like I thought (but I didn’t, really), Wow. (Note the lack of exclamation point.) I’m on the floor. Why?

I’m not aware of the fact that my husband has entered the room, but I say, “I don’t know what happened.”

At this point, my hands are on the floor, too. I have no memory of how they got there. My eyes are working again, and apparently, my ears as well. I reach up to the bed and lean against it with my forehead on the mattress.

My husband says something. I don’t recall what.

Blip!

And then I say, “Yes, I do.”

~*~

That little blip? It was all my awareness flipping back on, along with my memory. I realize that my esophagus no longer hurts, and that I must have lost a second or two while the pain ebbed. During those seconds, my legs stopped working and I started sliding down the mattress. I have no idea if I went fully unconscious—I’m not sure what the requirements are for that—but I do know that as far as I was concerned, one moment there was this awful pain, and the next moment, I was sliding down the mattress with the pain gone.

Here are some important distinctions between some assumptions fiction writers (including me!) often make about fainting, and my experience of the actual thing. I”m not saying this is THE WAY IT IS, I’m just comparing my misconceptions to my own experience.

“She fought to remain conscious.”

There wasn’t any fight to it. Once my brain decided I needed to lose consciousness, it did so without any regard whatsoever to my will. I wasn’t even aware that I was going to lose consciousness until it already happened. This has happened to me twice so far, and it was the same both times.

Not only did I not know I was going to faint until I had already come to, but half of my senses shut down during the experience, and my arms and legs were noodles. I have no idea if this is something you get better at with experience. So far, no.

“Everything got hazy.”

Nope, no haze. One moment I was standing there, the next moment I was sliding down the bed. If I had not leaned against the bed, I would have fallen. I was lucky–the night table was right next to me.

I wouldn’t even describe the lack of vision as haze. It simply wasn’t there. Not only was my body not using my eyes, but I didn’t even miss it. I didn’t know my vision wasn’t working until it came back.

“She felt faint.”

I suppose this means lightheaded. I’ve felt lightheaded many times without losing consciousness, so I can’t really address this. Experiences, anyone?

One key difference between the two fainting episodes: the first time I had a buzzing sensation in my head when I came to and was kind of queezy the rest of the day. This time, I felt fine. Also, the first time, I was sitting down the whole time, and remained safe in my chair. The only thing that happened was my head fell back, and when I came to, my neck hurt. I wonder if the buzzing sensation was due to my head falling back, rather than to the faint itself.

Excuse me, the near syncope.

Have you ever lost consciousness? Share in the comments for the elucidation of all!

Sorry about the sporadic blogging. The heat here has been unbelievable, and we’ve now had a record number of 90 degree + days. Last summer, we were all talking about how mild it was, but this summer appears to be trying to make up for it. It has me downright lethargic.

Anyway, I find myself researching some oddball things while I’m writing, and I thought it would be fun to blog about what I’ve researched lately.

I’ve set my story in a post-Renaissance era, in a “French-speaking country that’s not France.” For a fairy tale retelling (Cinderella this time) I’ve been researching a surprising number of masculine things:

French Ship Names. My hero is a 1700′s era entrepreneur, and in that era instead of buying tech stocks, you bought shares of a ship. So what to call my ship? I researched French ship names, and I discovered that the French loved to name their ships after either saints or women. So I called my ship le Belle Jeanne.

Early Organized Sports. Hunting and shooting were the big sports for that era, but what did teenage boys do while at school? It didn’t seem practical to put a gun in their hands and pack them off to the woods. So I researched football, rugby and cricket (I knew a bit about the origins of baseball from high school history). And it appears that the term “football” is safe to use going back at least a few centuries.

Vehicles. What kind of vehicle would a young man like to drive in the 1700? I remembered from my Jane Austen that they liked two seat open carriages. So my young man drives a landau.

French Endearments. I almost got sucked into the hazards of the French language here, and I still want to run my manuscript by someone who speaks French to make sure I haven’t done anything stupid. I was looking for an endearment and I discovered that the wording changes depending on whether you are talking to a man (mon chéri),or to a woman (ma chérie). Yikes!

Some things that are still flagged as needing research: the likely contents of a ship coming back from the new world (so far I’m going with silver, the knowledge of which I piked up from playing Pirates! years ago) the likely contents of a vegetable garden (not going to spend too much time on that one), and how usury worked–the common terms of a loan and stuff like that.

I love research and the Internet does make it fun. But sill, I have fond memories of libraries, encyclopedias and microfiche viewers, so it really is the research that I enjoy, and not just the Internet. Do you enjoy research, and if so, what is your favorite research memory? I’ll share mine in the comments.