Thing the first: did you see the Litpark article about the evolution of Neil Gaiman's hair? Oh yeah. Good times.
Thing the second: )*(#$)(*#)#($)(#*%(*#$ Sharks. They're killing me. Dallas and Anaheim have owned us this week. Gah.
Thing the third: OK. Writing dialog in a historical context is hard as hell. Well, at least for me. While I'm given to rich, detailed description in my scene setting, my dialog tends to be very real. I like the juxtaposition. In my first two novels, the setting is 2000 and 2004 respectively, so the dialog is very modern. In fact, I had to do a fuck-ectomy on my first novel. My protagonist, Jonas, had a mouth like a sailor (not unlike his creator…) so I had to ratchet that wayyyy back. Too real?
But the novel I'm working on now is set in 1905. In Norway. And I'm having the devil of a time. With my novella set during the late 14c, it seemed easier – I felt much more comfortable attempting an "antique" style. But that seems terribly out of place for a novel set in the 20th century. I thought maybe re-reading Sister Carrie or The Damnation of Theron Ware to get the rhythm of language at the turn of the century – but then I wonder if, because the authors and their characters are all American, it won't be a good representation of what I'm looking for. Argh.
So. If you write historical fiction, how do you deal with dialog?
leptology: a boringly detailed discourse on trivial subjects
Myths, symbols, and folklore
ash tree: "It plays a significant role in Norse mythology as Yggdrasil, the eternally green ash tree that holds together, earth, heaven, and hell. For the Greeks the ash, and particularly its wood, signified mighty solidity and stability; occasionally the ability to frighten away serpents was ascribed to it." (Herder)