Or what crazy writers and their equally crazy photographer sisters do. The difference isn’t really that much.
On Saturday afternoon Olivia and I were going to do something together, something outside. But she wanted to take pictures of me, which I don’t find enjoyable at all, and the same thought occurred to us both at the same time: “Let’s do pictures for a new cover photo for Of the North!”
I got dressed in record time (she didn’t want to waste any light, as it was after four o’clock when we were free) and she got her camera, and we went out. The road was slushy and slippery, so I held my skirts up because I didn’t fancy having to wash mud out of them.
These first two pictures have something of the mood of Of the North in them, though the exact picture Olivia’s using for the new cover will not yet be revealed.
(I was smart this time and pinned the end of my veil so it wouldn’t go flying all over the place.)
We watched the sun go down, and after it was at a certain point, though still above the horizon, the air started to get cold. We had to take a break because of course neither of us had mittens — I haven’t yet done much research on period mittens, and she as the photographer had to have free fingers. Except for our hands we were pretty warm, as she was bundled up in warm modern snow clothes, and I was wearing wool. In this picture you can see how purple my hands are (and yes, it looks like I’m praying, but I’m really not).
The sun went down a little more, and Olivia started to be in a hurry to take some pictures of me from a distance, which meant I had to run. Along a no-maintenance road with holes in it. In the snow. In garb. So I did the practical (though far from ladylike) thing, and gathered my skirts up into my belt. There’s evidence for that in medieval art, I believe, though not for the Anglo-Saxon era in particular. I mention this mainly because the lighting was so pretty right about now, only unfortunately the pictures Olivia got weren’t quite right for formal cover art.
(You get a good view of my very out-of-period boots.)
After Olivia’d taken enough pictures, and a couple of girls went down the road in a truck and embarrassed us (and how they did stare) the sun was down and our hands were freezing. Olivia’s cat came out to us because his Mom (my sister) was going on an adventure without him, but for some reason girls in skirts terrify him, so he was walking in front of us with his tail all poofed out the way it gets when he sees a hawk.
And then my cat, having lost his brother, joined us too on our way back.
At some point we’ll work on the new cover, and I’ll show it off when it’s done, assuming the quality is better than the last one, which is not hard to achieve.