What you put on your back influences what you feel inside.
Thirty years ago, I participated in a weekend workshop on soft toy making. We were test driving patterns for an art professor at the local university. At the end of the day, Dr. Duffey shyly took out a large white box. She said, “I’d like to branch out from toys. Do you think there might be a market for this?”
This was the most exquisite white-on-white vest I’d every seen. Every inch was covered with lace, pearls, ribbon, embroidery, and applique. Keep in mind that this was long before the current fascination with art clothing and magazines such as Belle Armoire. At that time, clothing “embellishment” meant embroidered mirrors on bell-bottoms or tie-dyed T-shirts.
She picked me to model the vest, and slipped in on over my shoulders. The thing must have weighed five pounds. As soon as it was in place, I swear I had visions. An entire fantasy rolled through my mind involving a haughty queen and a curse, and a band of women who came together to free the queen.
That was the day I realized that writers—especially those who write fantasies or historical pieces—need a costume trunk. If you’re stuck in the middle of a story, try dressing like your character, even if it’s just putting on a hat, feather boa, or piece of jewelry.
As far as I know, Dr. Duffey never branched out into clothing. I’ve always felt that was a terrible shame.