Follow me down the Rabbit Hole

Do all writers do research?

It seems unlikely that anybody could get a book written without a minimum of background work, even if the action takes place in a galaxy far away (the imaginary world still needs to be logical) or the author’s own backyard. Familiar terrain can be full of gopher holes that’ll trip the inattentive stroller.

Here are a few mundane details that came into play in my upcoming Houston detective novel (the full list is a lot longer): in what constable precinct is the crime committed (Precinct 5); what’s the rank of the head of the Homicide Squad (Commander); is the Museum of Fine Arts open on Tuesdays (it isn’t, I had that wrong); when does the San Jacinto Monument Museum close (6 p.m.).

None of the factoids are do-or-die essential to the plot but they anchor the tale in real life, something that helps bring the reader along. It’s the reason why Michael Connelly spends so much time telling us which roads Bosch takes to get from point A to point B in Los Angeles, or why Stephen King superimposes Bangor and Derry.

Good liars know this: fiction works a lot better when it’s wrapped in truth. That means getting the setting and the timeline right. Doing the basic homework. Some will say that the readers don’t care, and they may be right. There is something called poetic license after all. But, but … inaccuracies are jarring, and dings take people out of the story.

Most research can be done online these days. Maps, aerial views, reams of documents are a click away, even translations (but be careful) . You don’t have to take an Egyptian cruise to write Death on the Nile anymore. And yes, it’s a bit sad, expediency killed the expeditions. On the other hand, it’s a lot cheaper. And there’s no excuse for being casually sloppy. That being said, mistakes will inevitably be made, and shortcuts will be taken. Nobody can be an expert in everything, no matter the amount of research.

And this is where we encounter the rabbit hole. The trap of too much research instead of too little.

It’s easy to get lost in the minutiae, in the procrastination of research. Digging for information can turn into an excuse for not writing the story. Especially, if like me, you’re curious about things and love to chase the rabbit.

Here’s an example from that same upcoming detective novel. It has a subplot that revolves around a crooked real estate developer. Cracks in a building. My experience in shoddy construction is limited. Like everybody I know about doors that close by themselves, slabs that move over time, fissures in the walls. Houston being built on a swamp, I’ve watched contractors dig holes and jack up foundations. The case of a leaning twenty-two stories building is a different matter. I’ve lost track of the hours I spent reading about the peculiar geology of Florida, erosion, tropical storms, sinkholes, hurricane damage, and soil remediation. It was interesting. Lots of diagrams. Freaky pictures (these sinkholes!). What it boiled down to in the final manuscript was a couple of lines of dialogue. Do I feel bad about the time spent? Not at all, but I understand why writers that have spent years on research feel the need to share that hard-earned knowledge with the readers. These paragraphs turn into what Elmore Leonard calls “the boring stuff that readers skip.” There’s a fine line between interesting background and the drag of a lead foot in storytelling.

Then there are cases where the background is part of the story’s backbone. So far I’ve written ten short stories featuring Tom Keegan, a homicide detective in 1950s San Francisco. There is no shortage of documentation to bring the era to life. Photographs, newspaper archives, books, movies. As if I needed an excuse to watch Vertigo again … Hey, it’s for the street shots, and the cars, and James Stewart’s suits. Yeah, right.

One of the pleasures of the Keegan stories is interweaving real events and real locations with the fictional goings on.

Here’s a snippet from Footwork (Mystery Tribune):

The mist that draped the streets had lifted briefly the day before. It was a tease. This morning the muck slinked back in and cloaked the town again, even thicker than when the Benevolence got hit, or when the woman died in Golden Gate Park. Was her death a collision of sorts too, a fateful random encounter in the fog?

The USS Benevolence was a United States Navy hospital ship. It sank on August 25, 1950 after colliding with a freighter 15 minutes off San Francisco. The fog was heavy and 23 crew members died. There are more real life references in that story. The bus depot was really on Mission Street, and the International Settlement that features prominently in the plot was an area around Pacific Avenue well known for bars and cabarets. Scenes from Pal Joey (1957), with Frank Sinatra, were filmed there and the pictures from the shoot helped a lot getting the atmosphere right. Can you guess how much a cup of coffee cost in 1950?

In The Sunny Side of the Street (The Yard Crime Blog), a scene is set in the old Sutro Baths. The ruins are now part of the Golden Gate Recreation Area. The Haiphong Incident of 1946 where 6,000 Vietnamese people died is also instrumental in the decision made by the title character.

In the novella that I’m writing in collaboration right now, an electoral campaign event is the trigger for the story. It takes place in 1951, a mayoral election year. The opening scene is set at the Palace Hotel. A map of the ground floor of the hotel, from 1954, was extremely helpful and crucial for the plot development.

And, in conclusion, for A Redhead and a Green Car – now available in the “Motel” anthology from Cowboy Jamboree – I had a lot of fun choosing the right car models for the protagonists and perusing postcards from the golden age of motor courts. Even if the motel I selected is completely fictional and a tad seedy. The story is a classical noir even if the title is colorful.