A big part of the joy of writing is
research. Frankly, while I was at college, doing either A-Levels or my degree,
I thought the opposite. It was a drag, reading through books, finding quotes,
doing some kind of apparently relevant experiential work to base an essay or
dissertation on. I really couldn’t be bothered, but that might have more to do
with my lack of interest in what I was studying, than the actual process of
research.
I’m a firm believer in the phrase ‘write
what you know’. Like I say to many of the students at the creative writing
sessions I run at schools across the country, this doesn’t mean write about
your day at school, or what you had for lunch, what you saw on TV. What it
means (to me at any rate) is this: DO YOUR RESEARCH.
For me, the whole process can be addictive.
It’s an excuse to buy books, to scour through bizarre texts, buy random stuff
off ebay. It is also a great reason to get off your arse and do something a bit
different. Research has, for me, included skydiving, endless hours reading
about weaponry, taking up Krav Maga so I would have a better idea of what an
actual fight was like (I wrote a scene a few years back that a friend, who had
a better understanding of violence than I, told me would have the main
character dead within the first two sentences!) I’ve trawled my own background,
drawing upon my own hobbies of archery, shooting, mountaineering. I’ve
interviewed all manner of interesting folk. And, last weekend, I did something
I’ve never done in my life: I went to a Psychic Night.
It would be easy to have ended that last
sentence with an exclamation mark, as though to say, ‘what fun’ and ‘it’s a bit
silly’ and ‘don’t worry, I didn’t take it seriously’. The fact is, if I went
along thinking any of that, I’d have tainted my research. I needed an open
mind, wanted to take everything in, and record it accordingly.
It was fascinating. The evening began with
some relaxing music, played wonderfully on a wooden flute affair. You know that
relaxing CD music you find in shops selling crystals? It was that, but
considerably better. Following this, we went straight into astrology.
I, like everyone else I’m sure, has checked
out their star sign. I’m not sure I’ve ever got anything for it, but I’ve
always been interested in the idea that for 1000s of years the human race has
pondered the stars and considered their influence on our tiny lives. The
conviction of the astrologer I honestly couldn’t doubt. He was down to earth,
wasn’t wearing feathers or tie-dye, and didn’t make me want to immediately
punch him in the face. And his delivery was a lot of fun, too. Believe in it?
That wasn’t the point – I was interested in finding out why people did, not
whether I did or not. Next, we had palmistry.
If I was expecting Gypsy Rose Lee, I was
way off the mark. The man in front was, it turns out, an ex-school’s inspector.
He was funny, he had an address book that was a who’s-who of celebrities, and
he knew his subject inside and out. There was no mysticism to what he was
saying, if anything it was very matter of fact. And hearing how a person’s hand
could tell a story… what’s not to love about that? Because surely our hands do,
to a degree, carry scars of the lives we lead. Next came Tarot.
In much the same way, we were presented
with a man who wasn’t in any way hippy-fied. He just did tarot. People in the
audience picked cards, he explained them, job done. Were they looking for
meaning in what he was saying? Was it generalisations? Again, I didn’t care –
this was research. And it was fascinating! Then, after a break, came the moment
everyone had been waiting for: mediumship!
There is something intrinsically
fascinating about the notion of being able to see or contact or commune with
the dead. Where would Horror be without it? What I noticed immediately the
moment the medium took the stage, alongside a psychic artist she works with,
was the upping of anticipation in the room. Cynic or not, everyone there wanted
the medium to speak to them. Yes, even me. Why wouldn’t I? I was utterly
fascinated about what she was saying to others, how she was doing it, the
impact it had. Again, she was compelling and clearly believed with her whole
spirit that what she did was real. As did the man on the same row as me when
she handed him a painting by the psychic artist and he recognized it straight
away as his own father. As did the girl who’s grandfather came through when the
medium mentioned a paratrooper who liberated Belsen.
I left the evening no more convinced or
otherwise in what went on, but as I said, that wasn’t the point. I had
experienced something I’d never done before. I’d met people and spoken about
things that were out of my comfort zone. And I’d come away with such a
wonderful stack of ideas and thoughts and pictures and notes that I’m now
almost at a loss as to what to do with them!
As writers, we must surely maintain an open
mind. We need to see the world through the eyes of others if we are to ever
actually present a true picture of a character and how the interact with it.
Our role is the storyteller. We present ideas and thoughts and experiences and
events and it is up to the reader to then draw their own conclusions. If we
attempt to write from the perspective of a closed mind, I’m not sure we can
ever do our job as truly as we want to.
I love writing. I love the research. I love
finding out about stuff I would never usually consider in a normal, everyday
kind of job. And I love forcing myself to keep my mind open enough to absorb
something that might, some day, help me produce a book I’m proud of. Oh and
yes, you bet I’d go again!
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