In the high fantasy universe to which I escape when I’m burned out on Ada, or close to burnout, I tried to be Different and give my characters a lunar calendar.
Guess what is an absolute bear to plot and write around?
Going back years and years, I knew I didn’t just want to disguise our calendar as theirs, but I also knew their year operated on a 365/366-day calendar like ours. It’s an Earth analogue. Now, I’m not saying that lunar calendars don’t work; plenty of cultures have them and are used to them and love them. Key words there? Used to them. As in “been using them for-faffing-ever, know how to operate accordingly”. And I don’t. Man, I knew there was a reason “write what you know” topped so many writing advice lists.
So I’ve gone to a 352-day year with thirteen or fourteen days left over in a spare month, a time-out-of-time that Darling and I have been playing with for ages. Each of the eleven months has thirty-two days, which you’d think would give me a convenient way to break them all up into eight-day weeks, except a. time-out-of-time and b. I have an exchange in mind about this.
“Why is it that our months divide so neatly into eight-day weeks, yet a week is seven days?”
“Wren. A body can only work for so many days in a row before it wants rest. Even we have to take a day for every six we work, we bloody mules of healers.”
Of course, now I have to go back and revise all that lunar lunacy with which I began . . .