I've had a sinus infection this week, so I've been languishing in my room watching costume dramas. Historical drama is one of my favorite genres. the problem is, the more I watch them, the more I despair over modern clothing. Sure, some garments (especially those Victorian bustles) are impractical, but the richness of fabrics and delicacy of cuts are incredibly enviable. I keep feeling like I was born in the wrong time-- though I surely would not have been content with much of 19th century society. The modern world seems to have less to discover, less optimistic possibility. It's a very cynical world.
I've been outlining my own work of historical fiction this week, my main inspiration is actually The Childrens Book by A.S. Byatt. The way she wove together history and fiction was breathtaking. I'd love to write a novel like that. It's a period piece that doesn't posture in any way. It moves at such a natural pace and does not over-idealize or scandalize the history it covers.
However, on a more practical level, I have submitted more articles for magazine publication this week. Most of the PR work I've been doing this summer is finished, which is a relief.
No more response from literary agencies, but I keep polishing my manuscript, buffing away at it. I've begun drafting the sequel as well, it's turning out to be a different creature than I originally imagined.
I must venture out into the heat now.