Every time I sit down in my study to write, I’ve been having this problem. When it’s sunny, there’s way too much much light going on in the vicinity of my computer screen. I can’t see a thing! I thought this room with a skylight would be perfect for finishing my novel in, and it definitely has its place. In winter, I get to snaffle at least a couple of each day’s paltry selection of rays. Over summer, though, I’m genuinely concerned about getting sunburnt – the glare and exposure factor is real.
The university that I used to work for had tinted windows in its offices, I’m fairly sure. I’ve gotta say, the subject of window tinting for Melbourne offices has never really crossed my mind, given my association of this city with dark, rainy days and sporadic sunlight. I’m totally getting the point of it now, though. I vaguely recall someone saying that the particular kind of tinting film used at the uni even keeps the place a bit warmer in winter.
Anyway, if office windows can be tinted, then surely glass tinting for residential buildings is also a thing. I’m going to look into it before summer hits – I really need to smash out this final draft before my March deadline.
Complaints aside, I’m a huge fan of a light-filled room, and the skylight is brilliant for that. I can imagine that if my house was located somewhere with gentler rays – the English countryside, perhaps – it’d be beyond perfect. Given that I’m supposed to be a novelist, I should probably latch onto this vision for inspiration.
I can see it now: a fox in a bowler hat approaching the window to my left, carrying a basket of fresh lavender and woodland herbs in its mouth. It taps on the window pane of my adorable period home, and I turn to meet its enquiring gaze. The fox’s head is framed by a halo of completely unobnoxious sunlight, glowing radiantly in the morning mist.
That’s it – I’m getting the skylight tinted. And adopting a fox.