So many places, so many times--and so little time! What comes to my mind first is to
write an alternate history—sci fi of a certain kind. But honestly, although I’ve
always thought it would be fun to write science fiction (the first book I ever
wrote was sci-fi), I’m not sure I have the imagination for it.
But there may be
a historical novel in my future: Years ago I began doing research for a book set
in the early eighteenth century, beginning just before the turn of the century
in Paris, ending sometime around 1730 in Louisiana. I did exhaustive research
into the time period, eventually going to Paris to do research. What I found was
fascinating. I got to handle and read actual, huge leather-bound logs of names
of people deported from France for a wide variety of reasons, and sent to
Louisiana. In current parlance, I went down the rabbit hole and stayed there for
months.
Meanwhile, I wrote scenes for the book, worked on the timeline, the
plot, and the settings. The trip to Paris changed everything. It made me stop
working. Why? I’ll go back to the old adage that you should write what you know.
Which has been amended often to, write what you are passionate enough about to
find out. What I discovered is that I could research until I felt like I knew
every detail of the Paris and the Louisiana of the early 18th century.
I have a wealth of knowledge in my head and extensive notes about everything the
young Frenchwoman would have endured both in France and in America; the people
she would have been surrounded by; the physical conditions she left; the
physical conditions she found in America. I understood what the voyage would
have been like, the kinds of challenges she would have faced when arriving. I
understood the geography of early 18th Century Louisiana (I even got to sit down
and study, in New Orleans, the first hand-drawn map ever produced of the area
around New Orleans.)
But the research couldn’t fill the hole of not “knowing” what it would be like
to be the young Frenchwoman who would be the protagonist of the book. I can
imagine what it’s like to be a young woman, but don’t know how to be French. I
lack the deep understanding of what it means to be a woman brought up in 18th
Century Paris—her bone-deep beliefs, her fears, her expectations. I don’t know
what her everyday thoughts would have been. I don’t know what would have shocked
her that wouldn’t shock me. I don’t know what would shock me that she would have
thought commonplace.
Lately I keep coming back to the story, wondering if
finally, after all these years, I think I was asking something of myself that
isn’t necessary. After all, other people write historical fiction about times
and heroines they know nothing about. Why shouldn’t I be able to do it? So I’m
the clearing the decks and preparing to drag out all that old research. I even
wrote a first chapter to see how that would feel. I’ll have to bone up on my
French. I used to read French fairly well (including going to the law library at
UC Berkeley and reading up on French law of the period—in French), and many of
resources were in French, so if I need to refer to them, I’ll have to revive my
skills. And I’ll have to really dig deep to try to imagine what this young woman
would have been like. I see her in mind, but I have to feel her in my bones.
It’s intriguing. And if I find after poking into again that I’m not up to the
task, there’s always frontier Texas. I write books in the voice of a man, so
frontier Texas should be a piece of cake, right?
