It started innocently enough. It occurred to me that perhaps my protagonist played the cello. BUT . . . I know nothing about the cello. In fact, I do not know anything about playing any musical instrument. I cannot even read music.
Hence, the quest was launched to immerse myself in All Things Cello. I researched cellos, starting with the different types, looked up famous cello players, learned about the rigors of practice and performance and searched for information as to how all of this played out in the early 1900s.
It turns out that it is complicated to learn to play a cello properly. Prospective students are informed that at least five years of regular practice is needed to even become moderately proficient with this instrument. And then there is the time and expense of care, cleaning and stringing. Did I mention five years of dedicated lessons?
And yet, I found myself pricing used cellos and searching for a cello instructor in my area. Why? Because Vivian somehow hijacked what little sense I possess and convinced me that there is no better use of the next five years of my life than to learn to play an instrument that she might want to play.
Meanwhile, back in Reality Land, I had an epiphany. I do not have the time to play the cello. Nor has it been a burning desire for more than 15 minutes.
The cello research is all now in a folder marked “Cello.” At some point, Vivian may be chasing a story about someone who plays the cello. And when she does, the back story is already done.
To celebrate the un-hijacking of my good sense, I am enjoying a lovely Trans-Karoo Pinotage.