Publicly being a novelist (-ish)

Had to go to the British Museum to get some field notes for my WIP today. Two of my characters meet up in the museum, so I wanted to get the details of the ambience right. So far so not too difficult, if you can ignore all the people staring at the weirdo as he wanders around looking at stuff (not museum exhibits) and making notes about it all.



Where it got a bit tricky was that one of my characters has to be working in one of the museum's study rooms - and I had no idea what those rooms would look like. I always try for verisimilitude whenever I can, so I wanted to have a look at the study room nearest to the Egyptian galleries. (The character is an Egyptologist). The problem there is that the study rooms are only open to pukka academical types, and even then only with an appointment.



So I asked a security person in the Egyptian gallery where the nearest study room was. She (I think it was a she) asked me why I wanted to know. I said that I'm writing a novel, and that one of my characters has to be in a study room at the museum, and I want to see what the rooms look like so that I can get the details right.



It was at this point that I said to myself "Why oh why did you wear a Slipknot T-shirt, dumbass? What is wrong with you?" Not that I even possess such a thing as a suit, but I could have looked a little less disreputable. I ask you: scruffy black combats and a T-shirt printed with nine Death Metal maniacs in monster masks! What was I thinking?



She (or possibly he) told me to ask at the information desk. So I trudged back down the vast staircase, and had to kersplain all over again. "I'm writing a novel, etc, etc . . ." I have to admit I felt like a fraud (after all, it's not like I've ever had anything published) but at least I'd said "I'm writing a novel" rather than "I'm a novelist" which would have been stretching it.



The infodesk zombie told me I had to ask at the 'Help' desk. So I went through the whole spiel again. This time, I'd found an actual human, who was helpful, and who suggested that my character might prefer the much nicer study room which was second closest to the Egyptian gallery, and told me where it was: back up the vast staircase again.



I found the door to the study room, which was locked. A security person wandered over to see what the hell I thought I was doing, and kersplained that the study rooms aren't open to the public. I went through my spiel for the fourth time. She became remarkably friendly and helpful, and rang a bell for a member of staff to come and open the door. We waited for a while. By now, I was sweating with embarrassment, and wishing I'd never asked. The more I sweated, the more embarrassed I got, and the more embarrassed I got, the more I sweated. She rang the bell again. And again. Eventually, someone came and opened the door. She looked at me like "What the hell is one of those?" I had to do my "I'm writing a novel" spiel again. By now, I didn't even believe it myself. She gave me a very suspicious look, but said "Well, I suppose you'd better come with me."



I was led into a very nice room with lots of polished wood and stuff, and several academical types doing academical type stuff. The reluctant lady introduced me to a rather scary lady, all dressed in black, with black hair, deathly white skin and no makeup. She looked baffled by my unaccountable, unscheduled and rather scruffy presence.

"Yes?" She had a very husky voice, as if she'd spent a lot of time roaring at people.

I trotted out my spiel again, aware that I was now sweating like a suicide bomber.



I think she could tell that I was feeling wretchedly nervous and out of place. She took pity on me, and said I could make notes but not take photos or wander around - the place was full of priceless documents etc. I didn't dare move. My feet remained fixed in position as I looked around and quickly scribbled a couple of pages of field notes. The academical types looked at me out of the corners of their eyes; I got the feeling that they saw me as something akin to the barbarian hordes who came to burn down the Great Library at Alexandria. I wrote as fast as I could, then said "Thank you for your help" to the scary lady and fled.



I sat outside the museum, chain smoking and thinking "Wow! I actually got to see the very engine room of Academia!"



I then went back into the museum and scored the official British Museum book of Egyptology (£16.99)



Anyway, just thought I'd share my trauma with you guys.