Where Am I Today?

Where am I today?

I ask myself that from time to time.

Though my writing is intended to take my readers on a journey, over the years it has taken me on quite a journey as well.

I think the one of the biggest excitements for me in my writing has been the research.  Finding new places is not just a Google Earth or Wikipedia kind of thing. 

For example, when writing about a small town somewhere in the northern reaches of South America, I don't just want to know about the town.  I want to know about its festivals, its back streets and alleyways.  I want to know about that little cafe on the corner.  You know the one, just up from the fountain in the town center.  It's the place where all the old men meet and drink coffee just a little too bitter for me as they play chess or dominoes.

There is a Mancala board set up, too.  It's stones, so polished from play that they shine.  The pockets on the board worn deep, well past the depth of the stain and paint that originally made the board so attractive.  Paint and stones worn by the hands of adults and children alike.

I want to know the people, the traffic, the surrounding mountains and rivers.

I'm going to interject a little something here so you 'know' a little more about me.  When I was a young boy living in Las Vegas, Nevada, we had an elderly neighbor that liked to chat with us kids (brother, sister, and I).  Nice old fellow.  Never said much about his life, but always seemed interested in ours. 

He would ask about our school.  Wanted to know what little project we might be working on in the garage that had us banging and sawing on some piece of wood.

One day he asked me if I knew how to do woodwork or something like that.  My answer was a proud "Of course I know how!"

But he asked more questions.  Questions about the tools.  Questions about the wood.  Things I could not answer.  Then he explained... there is 'knowing' and there is 'KNOWING'.

Of course I was puzzled.

What I learned that day was simple.  It is easy to say you know something.  For example, you know how to weld steel.  But do you really?  Do you KNOW about the metals, how they are mined, how they are refined and processed?  Do you really KNOW what is happening to that bit of melted metal as the arc is moving across your work?  Do you know how the arc is made?  What makes the difference between one kind of rod coating and another?  How did they make the welder?  How did they make the welding rod? 

In woodworking, do you know woodwork, or do you KNOW woodwork?  How do the trees grow?  Where do the trees come from?  Do you not only KNOW how your tools are made, but can you make your own tools?  Can you tell me how the metal was refined and 'assembled' into such a fine blade? 

It is possible to know something... and not really KNOW it.

In my writing, I have endeavored to KNOW what I am writing about.  It may seem a small thing, but to me, it makes all the difference in the world.  I hope it does for my readers, too.

I have 'walked' the streets in Street View programs that have allowed me to peek into the front door of the little restaurant on the other side of the fountain.  Outside, several of the wives of the old chess players have gathered.  They share stories as their kids play about the fountain.  They discuss the bumper crop of avocados and corn in their back yard gardens with the wonderful weather, and what they are going to do when their relatives come to visit with the festival starting this coming weekend.  And of course, they grouse about their 'old men' playing chess on the far side of the fountain.

In one of my stories, a roundabout in England gave me pause as I looked at it with its five intersecting roads.  I started to sweat looking at it through a computer screen.  So I checked the road statistics on that roundabout.  Fascinatingly, it was as bad as it looked.  In a single sentence in The Watercolor Murders, I mentioned my character being a bit panicked about it.  One of my readers commented that he was, too - he had been through that roundabout.

The journey I take my readers on is only complete for me when they can feel the way my characters feel.  When they can wince at a near miss in a knife fight.  When they get angry when a loved character has died (as an important part of the story, I assure you).  When they think "All RIGHT!" as the bad guy gets his comeuppance.  When they hoot loudly as a character surprises them.  And when they smile and shed a tear as a character makes an emotional announcement. 

It pleases me that I can do this.  I get no greater pleasure in my writing than knowing a reader wants a sequel because the characters have so come alive for them.

I think I will keep on writing.