That I am writing a series of books based strongly on the color spectrum is an irony growing richer by the day. I’ve done a lot of research about color, the meanings of colors, the history and etymology. I’ve learned the words for colors in other languages, vivid color is splashed all over Solstice.
So why is it so hard to pick paint colors?
This isn’t a new problem. It’s the primary reason my living room stayed brown and the rest of the house remained off-white for over a decade.
The lack of color is something I’m trying to change. We’ve got the living room done and I like it. It’s starting to look like the color choice came either from divine intervention or massively great fortune. I no longer believe I did the choosing.
We have now turned our attention to what will be the guest room. There are several samples painted on the wall. Every day, I stand before them trying to decide. Sometimes I love them all, sometimes I hate them all.
Last night, the husband stood and watched me stare at the colors. “I thought this would be easier for you. Because of Solstice,” he said.
Sighing and giving him a squinty look, I snapped, “Just because I recognize French when I see it doesn’t mean I speak French!”
I might be off to the store again today, for a fresh round of samples. Part of me wants to give up and leave it all, it’s traditionally what happens at this point. But I’m determined to see this through, love it or hate it, that room will have color.
So, if you ever find yourself in my house, wondering how this mess happened, please remember I don’t speak French.