The Beauty of Research

Molly Gloss once told me she does most of her extensive research before she even starts a novel.

Nelson De Mille said in an interview that he approaches research in three stages: first reading everything he can, then interviewing experts in the field, and then going on location.

A memoirist (I can’t remember for sure who it was, but I think it was Judy Blunt) said she first writes her story and only later does any research to check facts, particularly if she’s writing about family, because she doesn’t want the research to inappropriately influence her writing.

The point is that there are so many ways, and times, to approach research, whether working on fiction or nonfiction, and I’m still trying to figure out what works best for me. With the internet at my fingertips, it’s tempting to do it all in my pj’s with a cup of coffee or glass of wine at my side, and I admit much of my research is done this very way. But the work, both internal and on the page, can be so much richer with broader, deeper investigation and discovery.

My current novel started with an on-location visit before the novel was even conceived. A trip to Alaska and a writer’s class taught by literary agent Donald Maass fertilized an egg of an idea. Over the course of a couple years, the idea began to grow and multiply. Once I decided to put the ideas into words, I began feverishly reading everything I could on mountain climbing, interracial relationships, and at-risk youth, and the story was born. From that point I continued reading, and I supplemented it with internet sites, movies, and television shows on related topics.  I studied psychology to try to pinpoint who my characters were, and I wrote short stories about several of them to further flush them out. Of course I also wove my own experiences of aging, adoption, and religion into all of this. The story began to develop the way an infant begins to crawl: clumsy with curiosity, sometimes moving forward and sometimes moving back.

As I worked on the second draft of the manuscript, I kept a running log of research questions that still lurked like shadows in the night. I literally pulled the research log up on my screen next to my novel, the two documents forced to sit side-by-side.  When the second draft was completed, I felt like I had a toddler now, lovingly conceived and nurtured thus far, but still having so much more growing to do. 

And so the work continues. I joined a writing group to knock down my sand castles, which they do with sincere relish. I reached out to experts, now knowing what questions I should ask them which I wouldn’t have known if I’d contacted them at the outset. And I made a reservation to return to Alaska in early May, during Denali’s climbing season.

I've been in Talkeetna for two days now and have learned things about the townspeople, the mountain's terrain, and the climbing community that I couldn't have learned through other sources. I've seen the little log cabins, smelled the woodstove smoke, and heard the crusty pilot's stories of long ago. I've felt the anxiety in the NPS orientation room and the vibration beneath the co-pilot seat on old Beaver bush plane. I've crunched through the snow at base camp and made friends with a couple of climbers from the UK and munched on caribou chili and reindeer sausage.

I've learned that you have to do on-location visits to really understand your story, and I've also learned just how lucky I am to have accidentally chosen such a beautiful setting for my novel. I had no idea, when I wrote the first draft of the opening line years ago, that I'd decide to return to Alaska for research, but I'm convinced it was an absolute necessity. And the other thing I've learned is this: from now on I've got to choose my setting wisely. I was lucky this time; next time it will be a more intentional choice of a place I really want to explore. Although, to be honest, I can’t imagine any setting more beautiful than Alaska. 

So who knows? Maybe my next novel will have to be set here too.