"Never Trust Your Memory" by Betty Webb
Like it or not, research is
invaluable to writing a good mystery novel. But much of that research means
double-checking things you already “know.”
For instance, I’ve lived in
Scottsdale AZ since 1982, and much of my time here has been spent as a
reporter, driving back and forth across the Valley of the Sun chasing story
after story. So I knew the Valley pretty well, right? Wrong.
In the first draft of “Desert
Noir,” my first mystery novel, I misnamed streets and put in intersections that
don’t exist. I also wrote in tracts of empty desert that no longer exist,
having long been replaced by sprawling subdivisions. I misnamed hotels, I
misnamed corporations, I wrote in one-way streets running the wrong way.
How did this happen? Easy. I was
writing from “memory of the known” only, and thus didn’t bother to fact-check
my memory. Fortunately, in the second draft of “Desert Noir,” I fact-checked
myself via a map and updated business and location information, so I caught
those goofs before my agent delivered my manuscript to my publisher. I’ll have
to admit, though, the number of errors I’d made in writing from memory alone
surprised me.
I am now writing “Desert
Vengeance,” my ninth “Desert” novel, at the same time I’m celebrating the
release of “The Puffin of Death,” my fourth “Gunn Zoo” mystery. Since the
publication of that long-ago “Desert Noir” I’ve learned a thing or two.
I’ve especially learned that we
writers should never trust our memories; memory lies. Look back on your
childhood, for instance, and make a list of all the dates you can remember off
the top of your head without double-checking. What year did you go to
Disneyland, for instance? Had your baby brother already been born, or was he
still just a gleam in your parents’ eyes? Did you have to wait very long to get
on the Matterhorn ride, or was it a breeze? Which hotel did you stay at, and for
how long? Was it a trip unblemished by trouble, or did snafus pester your trip
every day? Write down all your answers, and then check them against your
parents’ (and/or your baby brother’s) recollections. Chances are you all
remember very different experiences, right down to the year of the Disneyland
trip.
Reporters know how much “facts”
tend to wiggle around, according to the person who is relating them. Let’s say
four pedestrians – each standing on separate corners – see the same accident.
Once the debris is cleared away and the vehicles hauled off, the reporter sent
out to cover the accident gets four very different versions of the accident.
The woman standing on the northeast says the green Chevy Malibu ran the red
light and crashed into the tan Volkswagen Golf.
The man standing on the southeast corner tells the reporter that the
accident happened because neither the green Buick nor the white Honda Civic
stopped at the four-way stop sign. The other two witnesses saw something
completely different, an accident involving a green Hyundai Sonota and a white
Fiat, or a black Ford and a pale blue Nissan. Sometimes there was a light at
the intersection, sometimes it was a four-way stop. No matter which version the
reporter writes up – unless he first checks with the official accident report –
his story will be flawed.
My point is this: when putting
something in print, never trust your memory. Or what you “saw.” Check your
sources first.
Iceland Sodhouses |
While researching “The Puffin of
Death,” which was set in Iceland, I read histories of Iceland, studied
Icelandic travel books, Googled all things Icelandic, and – because the book
includes many species of birds – bought and read the Collins Field Guide
edition of “Birds of Britain & Europe,” by Roger Tory Peterson, Guy Montfort,
and P.A.D. Hollom. I committed as much information as I could to memory. Then I
flew to Iceland and crisscrossed the country for two weeks, picking up
literature, receipts, and souvenirs from each spot I visited. Then I came home
and began to write.
Guess what? Regardless of all the
care I took while writing the first draft of “The Puffin of Death,” I misnamed
a hotel, got some directions wrong, misnamed a volcano, put the town of Vik
sixty miles east of where it actually sits, and got the ingredients wrong in
the Icelandic version of a hot dog. Again, how could this happen?
It happened because I wrote that
first draft from memory -- and even a
trained reporter’s memory can be flawed.
Fortunately, using the reams of
material and bags full of receipts I’d collected in Iceland, I was able to fix
my screw-ups in the final draft of “The Puffin of Death,” and so far, no one
has written me to tell me I got something wrong. However, my husband – who was
with me during my Icelandic sojourn – remembers the trip differently, right
down to what we ate for dinner at that restaurant overlooking the slope of
Eyjafjallakokull, the erupting volcano that tied up European air traffic for
five days, six years ago.
Or was it six days, five years
ago?
Betty Webb
Author of DESERT
RAGE
www.bettywebb-mystery.com
& THE
PUFFIN OF DEATH
Comments
Thanks for the interesting post, Betty and Marilyn!
Richard Brawer
www.richardbrawer.com