Published Quarterly by Lifeloom.com

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." Sir Walter Scott

Winter 2003 Volume I, issue 3

Daniel Elton Harmon is a periodicals editor and the author of more than 40 books, primarily educational works for juvenile audiences. History is his favorite subject. The Chalk Town Train & Other Tales, volume one of his short story mystery series The Harper Chronicles, was published in 2001 by Trafford Publishing. Direct correspondence to Daniel Harmon at www.danieleltonharmon.com or to editor@lifeloom.com.

             Fire ravages a mill town jail, killing three. It’s South Carolina, 1893. Your sleuth, crime reporter for a small capital city daily, reaches for his satchel and scrambles to the newsroom door, glancing at the posted rail schedule: half a day 'til the next train in that direction.

             How will he travel? How long will the 60-mile journey take? How will he file his dispatches? Will he be typing his reports or handwriting them? If the latter, what kind of paper and writing utensil will he use? What level of law enforcement might he expect to find in charge? Where will he lodge? What will he eat?

             Before you begin unfolding a historical mystery or even setting the scene, you must know the period and region about which you write, almost as if they were your own. Some readers want fewer details than others. Perhaps they won’t require answers to all the questions above. But by subtly providing them, you can present a rich, accurate, hopefully worthwhile recreation of the time and place in which you’ve invited your audience to join you.

             During the years of planning my short story mystery series —“concepting” it, in artists’ lingo — I nestled it within a certain comfort zone. I chose an era of my state’s past about which I already had substantial knowledge and about which ample research materials are readily at hand. The tales are set randomly within the span of my reporter/detective’s journalistic career: early 1870s to early 1910s. This overlaps what scholars refer to as the “post-Reconstruction” and “early Progressive” periods of American history. (To Englanders: “late Victorian” through “Edwardian.”) It’s a time frame rich in possibilities for the historical fiction writer, especially in the mystery genre. Medical and forensic investigative methods were beginning to evolve but remained, from the standpoint of a writer who, like myself, is by no means well-versed in those sciences, “manageably uncomplicated.”

             “Harper,” my crime journalist, is based on no historical figure, not even loosely. The newspaper that employed him, The Challenge, never existed in the South Carolina capital city, nor did any of the rival papers or reporters referred to in the series. Thus, for purposes of historical accuracy, I gave myself license to narrow my researches. In short, I wanted to spend more time crafting plots, painting characters, and trying to spin a good yarn than checking facts. Still, the need for diligence is constant. Basically, four types of research requirements tug at my elbow whenever I write this series.

            First, I need to ensure that any historical events that occurred in South Carolina or abroad during this era (pertaining, for example, to the great Charleston earthquake of 1886, or the 1890 political revolution led by Gov. “Pitchfork” Ben Tillman, or the infamous Cash-Shannon duel of 1880) are correct within whatever context I might place them in a “Harper” plot. Second, I need a basic geographical knowledge of state place names during that time, and of the street and commercial lay-outs of the capital city and of certain towns and sites involved in the stories. Third, I need a working understanding of century-old journalism — what kinds of events were considered “news,” idiosyncrasies of verbiage that reporters used, how correspondents filed their reports from distant locations, and time lags. Finally, in general, I need to learn everything I can about ordinary life in South Carolina during those four decades.

             The weekly newspaper for which I once reported kept bound volumes dating to 1891 — a gold mine in my “concepting” years. I talked the editor into letting me compile a regular “yesteryear” column, which gave me countless hours (with pay!) browsing century-old news and gossip items and developing a personal storehouse of county history notes. Tidbits gleaned during that experience surface in my stories.

             Your state and local archives undoubtedly have magazines and newspapers from bygone times stored on modern media for public scrutiny. Many civic and university libraries have periodical collections — local, national and international — dating to the 19th and even 18th centuries. While browsing these literal “pages of time,” don’t overlook the “community” (gossip) columns. Meanwhile, the advertisements may tell you as much about the period as the “news” accounts.

            Later, I edited newsletters for a lawyer who’d amassed a wonderful collection of South Caroliniana. Essentially, he’d bought a copy of every SC-related book he’d ever come across. He displayed vintage maps and pictorial banknotes on the walls of the office building. I would spend coffee breaks gazing at an artist’s aerial rendering of Columbia’s lay-out in the 1880s. I memorized street names and the relative locations of certain businesses, and calculated how long it might have taken to walk . . . or run . . . from the riverfront to different destinations uptown.

             Still later, I had the privilege of writing a bed-and-breakfast column for Sandlapper, the state magazine, for 11 years. I spent nights in more than a hundred venues — almost all of them historic. Unhappily, those overnight excursions around the state were hurried; I had few hours to relax, soak in the ambience and take copious notes as I would have liked. But I was able to absorb much. Many interior settings in my stories are drawn from those parlors, halls, dining rooms, and bedchambers.

             Such career situations obviously were worth far more to me, in retrospect, than the salaries they offered. But they’re no longer available—whereas the need for fact gathering and verification is perpetual. I’ll share with you some of the sources and the information-ferreting and -storing techniques I’ve found useful in fashioning The Harper Chronicles. Some of them you already have discovered. Hopefully, others can be adapted for use in your situation. Even when I’m not researching a specific subject, I’m always watchful for data and ideas pertaining to the people, events and customs of the era about which I write.

             * First—and this is critical—maintain a notebook, journal, or what Sherlock Holmes called his “good old index” . . . or all three. Holmes kept a scrapbook. You should, too (or the Computer Age equivalent). Jot down small facts and features that eventually might prove useful in your literary pursuit—and do it immediately as they come to your attention; don’t try to commit them to memory. While you’re at it, record archaic words or phrases you someday may like for one of your characters to use, snatches of plots, local family and place names. While researching a history project, I’ll frequently come across a nugget of information which is irrelevant to my present work but which I believe might prove quite useful within the context of a future “Harper” story. Into a note file it goes.

             * Read ordinary old stuff. My ancestors didn’t keep diaries, but they wrote letters. When I was about 12, I’d nagged my grandmother until she finally consented to let me rummage through the plain old family trunk she kept in her kitchen. I found newspaper clippings (wedding and funeral announcements, mostly), Indian head pennies, personal documents, and letters she’d received from cousins in a distant town when they all were young women. Boring, I thought at the time. Priceless for their accounts of farm and small town life, I know now.

             * Devour literature that was written during your period of interest. If it’s horrendously boggy with description (much period text is), you won’t likely use it as a model for your writing style—but it will help you acquire your customized encyclopedia of knowledge about the era.

             * Drive through the country. Pause at dilapidated or abandoned villages and communities. If you see people there, stop and ask them about the buildings, the businesses, what the economy used to be.

             * Spend occasional Saturdays browsing antique shops, and don’t be afraid to ask dumb questions. (“What was this used for?” “Were these commonly found in this part of the country?” “How much would this have cost when it was new?”)

             * When tours of historic homes and districts are offered, take them. Take along your notebook and a couple of pens, or your handheld computer.

             * Study period photographs, scouring for details. Are the men’s shirts buttoned to the neck? Hair parted in the middle? Are the buildings in the background painted? Streets paved? Sidewalks (if existent) planked? Horses, buggies or bicycles present on the street? Children playing? What are they playing — marbles, hopscotch, skip-rope? If the scene is outdoors, can you tell what types of trees and shrubs are in the picture?

             Today, I’ve been examining a stereoscope print of a grocer in the early 1900s, selling items to children whose family are (I assume) regular customers. I pay attention to his cap, his style of mustache, the fact that he wears a bowtie and rolled-up shirtsleeves. I note the little girls’ hairstyles and long dresses. I note the design of the milk bottles, the wood-braced shelving in the backdrop, the products lined along them, the glassed cases of “show” items atop the counter in front, the rows of livestock feed bags on the floor in front of the counter. Using a magnifier, I can make out details of some of the items on the shelves and even read parts of labels. After a couple of minutes with this photo, I begin to feel something of the experience of actually standing inside a grocery a century ago. (Obviously missing are the aromas—I need to research and conjecture those.)

             From the perspective of an historical fiction researcher, a picture literally can be worth a thousand words—or a complete short story, or the nucleus of a novel. It can furnish you with visual details for your characters and scenarios: clothing, hair styles, mercantile names and facades, construction materials, forms of household and street lighting, cooking and eating and writing utensils, books, dolls, spittoons, bottles, furniture, wildlife and livestock.

             * Museums — especially small-town, low-budget labors of love — are absolute treasure troves for a writer intent on a subject such as mine. In South Carolina, we’re blessed with scores of museums whose curators value items which many visitors might deem uninteresting: a doctor’s microscope circa 1920, a typewriter from the same generation, someone’s great-great-grandmother’s eyeglasses, a turn-of-the-century letter describing damage after a hailstorm. Simple exhibits depicting domestic life in years past can reveal a world of data.

             Get to know the curator or docent on duty. You may find later, while you’re writing, that an authoritative answer to a small but important question is only a quick phone call away.

             Until you can visit them in person, check for museums’ Web projects. Some of the smaller museums as well as major ones have created content-rich Web sites that include virtual exhibits, rare photographs, articles, letters, diary excerpts and pointers to other Internet resources. You need to be careful conducting research on the Internet, because many seemingly bona fide, attractive history-related sites are the works of hobbyists and agenda purveyors who present incomplete or erroneous information. Museum sites, however, are generally trustworthy.

             * Collect old books and books about old things, and identify readily available collections to supplement what you have. The kinds of volumes essential for my own work include a reproduction of the 1908 Sears Roebuck Catalogue; photographic antique guides; the illustrated booklet "Familiar Trees of South Carolina;" local histories by the shelf-full; books on early American taverns and gristmills; compendiums of 19th-century medications, recipes, and superstitions (see especially the Better Homes & Gardens Heritage Cookbook, Meredith Corporation, 1975); recollections of railway workers during the Age of Steam; and works on criminal history. Diary reproductions are especially informative. Currently on my desk is Rice Planter and Sportsman: The Recollections of J. Motte Alston, 1821-1909, University of South Carolina Press, 1999.

             Whatever research tools and techniques you develop, they should be sources of pleasure, not drudgery. They should be wellsprings of inspiration, not just knowledge. The nature of your research ideally is such that it’s also your stimulation for subsequent writings. Countless times, I’ve come across a picture or fact while researching one story passage, which suggests an idea for a new scene—sometimes for a new story or a different project altogether. Again, into a note file it goes.

             “Good old index. . . .”

Copyright 2003 by Daniel Elton Harmon

Published Quarterly by Lifeloom.com

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." Sir Walter Scott

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