March 6, 2013 by kristin
I have long been an old house lover. It happened some time in childhood, when I devoured everything L.M. Montgomery at the local bookstore and wanted to live in a slanty-ceilinged nook of a room like Anne Shirley.
Several years ago, I convinced my husband we should buy a Victorian house in a tiny town off the beaten path. We lived there happily for several years, bashing out 70’s-era bathroom tile on the weekends. Then we had a baby. Suddenly, we had no more time for home improvement, and a sudden desire for the comforts of insulation and suburbia.
But before we left, I managed to write the first and second drafts of my novel. There, surrounded by eau de old house and my collection of antique photographs, I felt uniquely equipped to write the story of people who lived not far away 150 years before.
I don’t live in my Victorian anymore, but I still have my collection of photographs for inspiration. I’ll be sharing them here occasionally.
I can imagine my protagonist Annabelle standing on this front porch. Though it was built in 1907, 40 years after the setting of my story, it’s a basic enough farmhouse that the design of hers might not have been so different. (Edited because it was driving me crazy not to point out that those type of windows would never be on an antebellum. Did I mention I’m a bit obsessed with old houses?)
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