Well, I’m back from doing research for my novel in Kingston. I took this picture of the Inn I stayed in, at dusk, after I turned the lights on in the turret where my room was situated.
Turret
It was a long way up. 41 steps to be exact, not counting the stairs outside to get to the front door and the ladder to get to the top part of the turret.
But my biggest find in all of Kingston?
Can you find him?
freedigitalphotos.net
Being polite in this town I call home runs rampant. So much in fact that it normally takes twice as long to get through a four-way stop because everyone is insisting everyone else go first, regardless of who gets there first. Today takes the cake though.
I was sitting in a long line of cars at a red light waiting for it to go green. Finally we get to go (it was a long light); I was behind a Cavalier. We were almost at the light when the Cavalier almost rear-ended the pickup truck in front of him. Why did the pickup stop at the green light we’d been waiting so long for, almost causing an accident? To let a pedestrian cross in front of him on the red.
Fuuuuu…
As the population in this town ages – I believe it will be half empty in the next fifteen years – it seems that many of the drivers lack more and more the concept that the rules of the road are more important than being nice. And it’s scary! I’m trying to teach my son to drive around town, but it’s unrealistic. The first time he leaves town and goes to a big city he’ll be run into and over top of. There is no such thing as aggressive driving here. I actually had a ball when I went to Montreal last month, getting to experience that again after so long. At least when everyone is only looking out for themselves you know what to expect.
This little town with all its nice people is, I think, the most dangerous place I’ve ever gone out in public. Unless I’m walking of course.
I had my brake light replaced yesterday. That’s my back story.
Speed forth to today.
Leaving my house this morning, I was stopped by a frantically waving mother (mine). She wanted to let me know that my headlights were on. I explained to her that they were Daytime Running Lights (DRLs). I didn’t get into the fact that they have been required by law in cars in Canada for the past 21 years… my mother is 83 years old. There are many things I don’t bother to try to explain to her anymore. Anyhoo, that was my first notice today of DRLs.
The second one came this afternoon on my way back home. I was being followed by a cop car – which had one of its DRLs out. Because I just had a brake light blow, I imagined the scene in which I hadn’t already had it replaced and I got pulled over. My imaginary conversation went something like this:
Cop: You have a light out.
Me: Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know.
Cop: Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?
Me: But did you have any idea that you’d be the next one saying it? (I point at his DRL and smirk, ruthlessly.)
Cop: (Puts his hand over his mouth, giggles, and runs back to his car and speeds away in embarrassment.)
Okay, so it probably wouldn’t go exactly like that. But I would have liked to have seen the look on his face, wouldn’t you?
Being someone who gets most of their inspiration from watching people and trying to imagine why they do the things they do (see photo), I’m finding it difficult to write anything new these days. What with summer vacation and the fact that I’m trying to save money for the trips I want to take, it’s hard to get out of the house, even for a little while. You might say, ‘Just take your kids out with you!’ but that doesn’t work when you’ve got an autistic teenager who’s bigger than you and has definite opinions on what he wants to do with his day, none of which involve leaving the house.
I suppose I could watch TV. *gasp* But whatever I see there has already been done, hasn’t it?
I should probably count my blessings. As long as I’m not finding inspiration to write something new it means I can work on editing my novel. The going is frustrating on that front as well. The re-write I’m currently working on (a section that I’m not pleased with) requires me to fully get into character. That’s difficult when you’ve either got someone looking over your shoulder asking, ‘What are you doing?’ or simply being interrupted every ten minutes.
Oh, shut up whining, Linda!
Needless to say I’m looking forward to my weekend trip next week. I plan to view the house in which I’m staying through the eyes of the girl my main character brings home with him. Her fascination will be my path to detail.
As for finding inspiration, who knows? On top of a fresh perspective on my major work, I may have time to find inspiration for a number of other things as well. I certainly won’t be sitting in my room the whole time I’m gone. Such freedom is a rarity for a single mom, especially during summer vacation.
freedigitalphotos.net
“Top Quality Engagement Rings 80% OFF With Lifetime Guarantee.”
This was the subject line of an email which just showed up in my Spam folder. What I want to know is, a) is the ring guaranteed, or b) does it mean that you’re going to be stuck with the person you get engaged to for the rest of your life whether you want to or not, simply because the damned ring was guaranteed?
“Honey, I know I’m an flabbergasting bitch, and I’m spending every dime you make on shoes and male strippers but, you know… the ring….”
I haven’t had anything interesting to report on my paper route lately, so I thought I’d share with you a picture I took last year. I’m quite proud of it, considering it was taken with a crappy cell phone on the spur of the moment.
![Monarch[1]](https://lindaghill.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/monarch1.jpg)
In other news, I reached a new milestone in blogging today. Thanks to Franny Stevenson I now have 400 followers! Thanks Franny, and all my other wonderful followers for making this possible! 😀
With all this recent talk about doing research, I’ve decided to do some of my own. Actually, I decided a week ago, but I’m jumping on the bandwagon with those who have blogged about it.
Hochelaga Inn, Kingston Ontario
When I first decided to set my novel in Kingston, Ontario, I looked around the internet for historic houses there and found this one. As luck would have it, it’s a Bed and Breakfast. So next week, guess where I’m going to stay…? Yep, I’ll be right up in the tower room, which is complete with a ladder to the roof from the inside. I have described, using only my imagination, every nook and cranny of this glorious mansion. But now, I’ll be able to do so from the inside. 🙂
In the three days I’ll be spending there I plan also to both drive and walk around town, getting a real feel for the atmosphere. And who knows, maybe I’ll even meet my main character while I’m there. He’s sure to be in residence, after all. 😉
Today, all my fellow Canadians, enjoy a beer and a poutine (or a Pepsi and a Jos. Louis if you’re Quebecois,) and know there will always be a Tim Horton’s just up the street.
Have a wonderful 146th Canada Day!
As a writer I need time to myself. I need the opportunity to be able to think and imagine without distraction. I have to say it’s even more difficult now that I’m working on the second draft of my novel; the writing, when I was fully into it, could sometimes be done even amidst the chaos that is my children.
Every other weekend, typically, I have this time alone when the children are with their father. What I think annoys me the most is that it takes me a day to simply wind down from the twelve previous days I’ve had to take care of them. They leave on Friday night, but it’s usually not until sometime late Saturday afternoon that I am in a state of mind where I can sit and concentrate.
So why am I not working on it now? I’m coming up to a major edit and this post has been bothering me, niggling in my brain to be written. This is me, getting it over and done with. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I also wanted to say that, writing a novel makes me feel a bit like this guy:
The Eye, by David Altmejd
Disturbing, isn’t he? I found him at the Museum of Fine Arts in Montreal two weekends ago. The hands are my characters, wrapping themselves around my brain and wanting to get out; the hole is the feeling I have as I pour forth my entire being into my writing, onto the pages.
I hope my writing talent is worthy of such sentiment. If it is, I’m sure to be successful.
An encounter this morning with a cashier at the grocery store left me wondering what planet I’m living on. This is how it went:
Her: Hello, how are you?
Me: Fine thanks.
Her: (looking at my t-shirt) What’s that, ‘Ty Chy’?
Me: (realising I’m wearing my Tai Chi practice shirt) Oh! It’s Tai Chi.
Her: What’s that, some kind of food?
Me: (not wanting to confuse her with science) No, it’s an exercise.
Her: (blank stare)
Me: Sort of like yoga.
Her: OH! Yoda! That’s that meditation stuff, right?
Me: (not wanting to get into it) Yeah.
Her: That’s when they tell you if you concentrate enough you can move this way and put that there and Avada Kedavra, you’re flat on your face.
Me: Right.
I wonder if I could have got away with paying for my groceries with Gringotts gold…
photo source: Wikia
lindaghill.com 