I confess.
I’m addicted to Crack(ed).
It’s terribly fascinating, the stuff you find there. Today, I discovered the concept of unwrapping parties: Victorian well-to-do purchased mummies from the roaring traded in Egyptian relics, and used the unwrapping of the dead as a party theme.
“‘Lord Londesborough at Home: A Mummy from Thebes to be unrolled at half-past Two”, read an invitational card. It was apparently quite the social phenomenon.
Fascinating. Morbid. God, how Victorian.
Of course, now there’s a story blossoming silently in the dark. Seeded, rooted, growing. Even the style of it, immediately apparent. Two hundred twenty-eight words begun, more to follow.
Of course, I make the decision to aim for the novel and not the stories, and a thousand-thousand blades of fictional grass sprout up in my head.
Of course, I’ll write them.
Of course, I’m mad.
Of course. Good night. :)
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