I’m terrible at it.
Once I learn something, it’s ridiculously hard and rather painful to ever get it out of my head again. (Think a crowbar trying to budge a three bedroom Brownstone.)
Yeah, a useful trait in academia. Not so nifty in historical romance.
As I continue to wrestle my way through writing the Six Brothers project (100k historical mainstreamer, if you recall), I’m finding myself having to shove a lot of facts into the “Forget you ever knew that” closet.
All romance authors participate in some level of selective ignorance (i.e. bathroom breaks post sex, post-coital sheet messes, etc.). However, in historical romance there are literally tomes of stuff you’ve either just got to leave out or lie your butt off about.
Fine and dandy, I suppose, for a regular minded soul. Not so peachy for a perfectionist riding an OCD high.
So if I turn up missing one day, check the “Forget you ever knew that” closet. I’ll be hiding out there with the heroine’s tampons.