Researching Fairmount

My Kelly O'Connell mysteries are set in Fairmount, a national historic district just blocks from my house. The photos above shows a typical row of houses and a restaurant on Magnolia Avenue (photos by Polly Hooper). Because I cut through the back streets all the time and eat in the neighborhood's restaurants, I'd tell you I know it well. But this morning I had a few questions in my mind, so I drove through Fairmount, paying particular attentiont to small businesses that line Magnolia Avenue, the major street that marks the neighborhood's northern boundary. And yes, I noticed new things, had new ideas. Then I came home and did some online research on Fairmount, national historic districts in general, and the League of Neighborhood Associations in Fort Worth. Learned some interesting things: at one square mile, Fairmount is the largest national historic district in the Southwest; listing on the National Registry of Historic Districts does not empower that registry to enforce restrictiosn, nor does listing on the state registry. Such power is handled locally. The Fairmount Neighborhood Association has guidelines but no rules; it encourages retaining original wooden windows and doors, columns and chimneys, for instance, and discourages painting brick not previously painted, use of metal or vinyl siding, and enclosing porches. Of course you can find some of those things done throughout the neighborhood, but in general folks abide by the guidelines. They're proud of their neighborhood.
All this works well for my plot in the current work-in-progress where a developer wants to put a big-box shopping center on Magnolia Avenue--you can imagine Kelly's reaction to that!
I'm 23,000 words into the first draft, have to turn in the completed final draft, at about 70,000 words, by March 15. That will be here sooner than I know.
Highlight of my day: giving the puppy a bath with Jacob's help. We both ended up giggling and sopping wet, while the poor puppy kept trying to climb out of the tub. She had gotten muddy this morning because the sprinkler system had been on earlier and left the ground wet. We toweled her off and tried to brush her, but as Jacob said, "This isn't working." Then he took her outside to play, emptied the outside water dish, and made more mud for her to roll in. Swell.
An evening of writing lies ahead: I'm looking forward to it.

Are you a city dweller or does your heart lie in the country?

My friend Cindy Bonner, who lives just outside Cuero, posted some wildflower pictures from her three acres, and they were so beautiful I replied that they almost made me want to live in the country. Cindy replied that she couldn't understand those of us who enjoy the hustle and bustle of city life. That made me ponder. How much do I enjoy city life? Why don't I want to live with beautiful free vistas, quiet at night (I live on a busy street across from a school), and the slower pace of life. I love going to my brother's ranch near Tolar and sitting on the front porch of an evening watching the cows across the road. I even get a kick out of going with him to count calves, and I love driving around the ranch, looking at the views--Brazos River valley in the distance--and the bluestem gamma grass that is just beginning to come back.
But I am a city child, always lived in the city (except for a few years in a small town that I loved but when I went back for a visit, it seemed claustrophobic). I don't much enjoy the hustle and bustle--in fact, I avoid it. But I love eating in a wide variety of restaurants, having a lot of friends close to me, and neighbors who drop in for a glass of wine. Living alone, I would be not only lonely but insecure in the country, and since I don't like to drive on the highway I'd never go anyplace.
No, I'm meant to visit the country but stay in the city, even with its inconveniences. The other night when I had company for dinner, and we had drinks and appetizers on the porch, the occasional truck that roared by or plane that was slowing for an approach at Meachum Air Field stopped conversation. And in the mornings and mid-afternoons, the traffic from the school is a royal pain--and rude parents park across my driveway and let their children out in the middle of the street, which terrifies me for the children.

But then, my porch is pretty green. I live in an old house (1922) on an old street where the trees are "mature." (I live in terror of losing the big old elm in front of my house that has occasionally lost major branches.) Sometimes at night when the traffic isn't too bad, I take a glass of wine and sit out there and enjoy the green and the peace--no book, no conversation, just me. In fact, I think I'll go do that right now. It's been in the mid-80s today and is wonderful out. Spring is truly the best time in Fort Worth.