Dust and Write

            I've been doing some research on the American Civil War for my next project. The notes I'm taking are stacking higher and higher. I could write a first-class term paper at this point, but I'm not ready yet to write a story.

            In particular, I’m still looking for a hinge fact.

            The hinge fact, in my definition, is the tidbit that hooks the reader and opens up the story. I assume that it will capture the reader’s interest if it grabs my attention.

            I recently read Dust and Light. The author, Andrea Barrett, writes historical fiction and has garnered numerous national prizes for her work. Dust and Light is a short nonfiction book in which she discusses finding and using facts in her writing. The book received some nice attention and seemed perfect for helping me clarify my thoughts on research and writing.

            The Devil's Kitchen, my debut novel, unfolds across dual timelines. The remaining books in the series will as well. To write the historical chapters, I need a basketful of facts. However, to progress as a writer, I wanted to consider new and better ways to utilize them.

            Dust and Light has me thinking about historical facts and their judicious use. I want to deploy the facts to tell the story rather than using the story to display the facts. That's always the goal, but it's easier to articulate than to execute.

            I also hoped the book might show me how to pinpoint the hinge fact.

            That final search didn’t pay off. As Barrett outlined her method, I kept hearing the word "chaotic" in my head. In interviews, she has described her research and writing process as odd, inefficient, even crazy. One of the book's themes is that a discussion of process isn't intended to teach a particular method of writing. Instead, the conversation teaches us that we all have our own individualized method for writing and that “we should cherish those ways.”

            Andrea Barrett may be the dictionary definition of ‘pantser.’

            Her book reminded me of a few other things. The author related a story about scientific research from the nineteenth century. Fridtjof Nansen theorized that in the frozen wilderness of the Polar Sea, ice drifted northwest. He searched for evidence to support his belief. Nansen learned of the Jeanette, a ship exploring the region that had been lost at sea. Several years after its disappearance, a pair of oilskin pants from the Jeanette washed up on the shore of Greenland. Nansen recognized their clockwise drift pattern and set off on his own largely successful expedition.

            An empty pair of pants floating onto the Greenland coast is my idea of a hinge fact. 

            To make his leap of understanding, Nansen needed this fact. But to appreciate its significance, he required a solid knowledge foundation in his field. The explorer also benefited from a community to support and challenge him. He needed resources— a crew, a ship, and time. Finally, Nansen required the courage to try.

            The scientific or explorer’s method may not be identical to that of the fiction writer, but the resource demands are similar. The entry point, an adequate base, space and time to explore, and a supportive community are all elements of successful writing.

            Barrett seriously downplays the use of facts. She acknowledges that fiction must be about something. Setting out a story about a character doing something within a specific time and place necessarily involves articulating facts. While reluctantly agreeing, she wants her facts to be dissolved into her fiction. The basket of facts she accumulates is used to inform what characters love and what motivates them rather than providing specific details about who and when. She doesn't like to overburden her stories with facts. 

            Much of Dust and Light is devoted to clarifying this idea. What Barrett wants to convey about her characters needs to be true, even if not entirely factual. Everyone who writes fiction probably thinks the same way. We write stories and not encyclopedias. 

            To write crime fiction rooted in history, I need a plot. And within a plot, I need facts. In interviews, more so than in Dust and Light, Barrett makes clear that she writes literary historical fiction rather than genre fiction. I felt the metaphorical pat on the head and the implied, 'I’m not really talking about you.' While her polite dismissal sounded a bit pretentious, the take-home lesson--to separate the cause from the result--retained value. Barrett encourages writers “not to confuse the material with the aesthetic creation arising from the material.” In fiction, the facts are in service to the story.

            We think the same way about character building. Somewhere on my computer are saved a host of surveys I’ve been given. These are questionnaires to flesh out fictional characters. When I’ve thought through what sort of dessert she likes and what pet she had as a child, I have a better picture of who my character is and how she might respond in each situation, even if nowhere in my story does she ever pause to eat strawberry ice cream with her cat. The pile of facts Barrett accumulates help her to know her historical characters in the same way.

            Dust and Light is a quick read. I didn’t find my guide to locating the hinge fact. I did, however, come away with a lesson on delicacy in selecting and incorporating facts into my stories. I got a cautionary tale about the temptation to flood my stories with excessive information. The book gave me a glimpse into different research and writing styles. It reminded me about the value of the community.

            And speaking of community. I’ll be traveling from ThrillerFest on the day this blog posts. I won’t have internet access. Please excuse the failure to reply to a comment.

            Until next time.