Writers' brains

I realized yet again last night that writers' brains do not work like other people's.

It was our final "preview performance" of the play before opening night, and I was sitting in the green room in full 1900s farmwoman costume, reading "Common Women : Prostitution and Sexuality in Medieval England". (Strange choice for bringing to read at a kids' play, you say? Yes, I suppose so. But they're mostly teenagers, and it's not like I'm letting them READ it.)

But one of the older cast members sits next to me, and says "How's the research coming?" He'd asked about it before, so I'd mentioned my book and all.

"Good," I say cautiously. I don't like to be all pretentious and writer-y.

"Yeah?" he asks. "Did you find any good information?"

Hmm. I look at him, considering. He seems genuinely interested, not just polite. And he did ask a follow-up question.

"Yeah, I did!" I say, allowing some of my excitement to show. "I found a quote I can use! See here?" I flip back a few pages, to a place marked with a sticky note. "It's a real medieval insult recorded in a court case. 'Any man could meddle with her for a half-penny.' Isn't that cool? I can use that somewhere!"

I look up. He's staring at me, with an expression that clearly indicates that I'm somewhere on the outer edges of the lunatic fringe. "Yeeeesss," he says. His gaze flicks up over my head, then away to the other side of the room, clearly distancing himself from crazy medieval girl. "I suppose you could."

{sigh}

"But it's real," I mutter to myself under my breath. "I can use that somewhere."

It was exciting, to me. It always is when I find something new I can add in, or make a connection. But really, I don't know why I bother. They just don't understand.

Medieval Word of the Day: hotfoot: With eager or rapid pace; in hot haste; hastily.