I'm reading the next Baby Shark book and this line just made me laugh out loud:
"Buford was trouble looking for someplace to happen"
Baby Shark's next adventure is set in 1956 and one of the fun parts of this job is double checking for anachronisms. With a former client I had to find out how many digits were in a phone number in 1932 (not 7!) and when police radios were invented. For this one I get to look up songs and shotguns!
I love my job!
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4 comments:
My kid made me go through a checklist of electrical appliances and dohookeys for a school assignment. The question was, did we have any of the items listed when I was his age and how many did I have?
Easy checklist. 90 percent of the stuff on the list wasn't invented when I was his age, and a bunch of the stuff that was invented was only for rich people. Turned out that I am my own anachronism.
One is always safe using a goat in their story. Goats are never anachronistic. ...
For me it is much harder to catch an anachronistic word than an out of place item. Vocabulary is fluid, and words we commonly use may be "out of period." Don't tell anyone, but in Pixie Warrior (out late next year! yipee) I have one of my main characters use the word "Smarmy." It's out of place by about three years. I figure I'm safe.
When researching a 33k word history book (sorry, you ain't a gettin' the title. It'd reveal my secret non-pixie identity! Not that almost everyone doesn't know it anyway....) I found interesting changed usage. No wonder that little puzzling 'sic' thing and endnotes were created.
One example of changed usage is the word vail. My editor thought she'd found a typo because I neglected to insert that little 'sic' thingie.
Historical puzzles are fun ... For instance: In what year did the last dragon flight occur?
You think I'm joking, don't you? Research it. ...
I was born in 1950 and lived in a tiny village in upstate NY. No Ma Bell back then, just the Dimmock Hollow Telephone Company headquartered in the living room of the home across the street. Everybody’s phone number was 3-digits. Ours was 112 and my grandparents’ was 290. I’m not certain if there was a phone book or not, but it wasn’t necessary as the operator knew everyone’s number. You didn’t dial the number back then; in fact our phones had no dials. You just picked up the receiver and told the operator whom you wanted to call.
Telephone use in the dim, distant past? I talked to older relatives who lived in the little town where my story is set. Their first telephone service came in 1918. There were assigned numbers, three didgets long. The phones cranked and connected you to the operator. You gave her the number or the name of the person you wanted. Rings were in patterns so people on a party line could know who was being called. I came up with this:
Father was worried. Much time, and some intense activity which brought wing-colours to Mother's wings, did not bring wakefulness to her eyes. Also, there was the matter of Mother's now swollen belly. Large humans do not swell nearly so fast. So this was a grave concern to my father.
He considered calling the old physician of that place. But, how does one reveal a secret as great as a pixie love, and not lose the very thing one loves? In truth I cannot think of a way, and neither could he. He did not know that Mother was doing what pixies do when pregnant.
In his agitation he did not hear the phone ringing its pattern of two longs and one short until several rings had echoed unheeded through is mind. He lifted it from its cradle and held the earpiece in his right hand. "Yes," he said, "Yes? Hello?"
"Hi, Robert, this is Central. I have a call from Mr. Walker. Will you take it?"
"Bertha, of course he'll take it." The voice was kind, but insistent.
"R.J.? Are you Okay?"
Papa recognized the voice of his master, Fletcher Walker. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Yes, Mr. Walker. I'm Okay. I didn't get much sleep last night. The phone startled me."
"That's why I've called. Glen told me about last night. I'm truly sorry. I just wanted to make sure you're Okay and to tell you that Fred won't be bothering you anymore. In fact, I hear he's packed his gear and left."
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