While I’ve sometimes been uncertain about the path of my career, I would have said it wasn’t the case of an identity crisis. Yet this past year I’ve been so immersed in researching and writing about my ancestry that it appears I may be mistaken about that. My oldest sister, the family historian, did an admirable job researching our family in the days when internet access was rare. After she passed away, the task became mine. This happens when siblings flatter you with platitudes about your skills in research, writing, etc. So, I set out to fatten the existing files and hopefully discover hidden treasures in my lineage.
I’d always intended to write a novel about my childhood in the 50’s. But as I researched my Irish ancestry, my great-great grandmother’s life intrigued me, and she became the main character in my story. Funny thing about this process is that I knew few specific facts about her. And since everyone who once knew her was dead, I resorted to fiction in order to flesh her out. As the story progress, I’m sure the character I created didn’t remotely resemble my great-great grandmother, but by that time I was so invested in the story, it no longer mattered.
In the process, I’ve have researched more about Irish history than I ever imaged possible. I’ve dug through facts on websites, in non-fiction books, internet archives and drew names from ancestry websites. I have garnered a new respect for historical authors who produce engaging stories after endless research, so much so, that I forget I’m reading fiction. Edward Rutherford’s book The Rebels of Ireland, is a proven gem in this field.
I’ve always loved history. I remember walking home from school carrying a very cumbersome world cultures textbook, in the era before backpacks. It was the first day of school that year. My older sister remarked about the cruelty of my teacher giving homework on the first day. I told her that I didn’t have homework. I just wanted to bring the book home so that I could look through it. When I told her about how I loved the smell of new books, she looked at me like I had morphed into an alien from another planet.
In historical fiction, I can combine my two loves. I just need to be extra careful not to make the mistake of inserting my fictitious characters into my ancestry chart. I almost did that once. However, another bonus of this writing is the intense respect I’ve acquired for my forebearers who lived in challenging times past. Knowing more of their history demonstrates how we all struggle with the set of circumstances we’ve been given and how much these outside factors influence the path each of us will take.
When I know their history, my characters are free to come to me instead of trying to force them on the paper. With the setting in place, like actors on stage, their story unfolds. Yes, writer’s block still besets me, but I’ve become more patient. Eventually, they speak and I write. Their story becomes a part of mine. Lesson learned.
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