Feb. 9, 2013

If you have children, you know how difficult it can be to get them to tell you what they did at school on any particular day.  As an early childhood educator, I always encourage parents to ask very specific questions to get the answers they crave. “Did you do a puzzle today?” “Who was the Calendar Helper?” “What did you have for snack?” These are the kinds of questions you must ask in order to get the answers you really want.  It is exactly the same when writing historical fiction.

When I was putting together an album of old family photos, I re-discovered a portrait of my mother at eleven years old.  I looked at this beautiful little girl, her long golden hair tied up with a white bow, her large green eyes staring back at me, and wondered… what was she thinking about that day?  She looked so serious. Who was her best friend and what had she eaten for breakfast ? What might make her laugh? Did she like the dress she was wearing? I had never thought to ask my mother any of these questions. And now, when I wanted the answers, it was too late.  My mother was gone. She had passed away in 2002 after a three-year battle with melanoma. Obsessed with wanting to know more, I called Aunt Irma, my mother’s only surviving sibling. Lucky for me, Irma’s memory was as sharp as a tack and full of artistic flair.

“So Irm,” I began, “I’m  writing a book and I need some information.” “What would you like to know?” she asked. “Well, for example, when you went to visit your grandmother in Brooklyn, did you take the train or a car?”  “Sometimes we drove. And when we did, my mother always brought fresh flowers from the garden and put them in a cut-glass vase Pa had attached to the back of the front seat. Other times, we took the train. I even got to go in by myself once in a while.”  We found ourselves talking for hours and emailing back and forth.  “What kind of candy bars did you like best?  Did everyone keep kosher?  What did you know about the war in Europe?  Tell me more about Uncle Gene quitting school to join the Navy…”

Before I knew it, I had a yellow legal pad full of notes and scads of emails.  There were recipes for Hungarian goulash, stories about my uncle and his pet monkey, a tale about a mysterious family in town from Germany, and lists of favorite books and films. She even described the color of her bedroom walls and the fabric of her bedspread. I decided to ask questions of other people in the family. I queried my cousins about their favorite childhood stories from their parents. “You’ve got to put in the one about the lasagna on the back porch,” said one. Another added, “And what about Aunt Tip losing her friend at Pearl Harbor? I think she was in love with that guy.”  The more I asked, the juicier the tidbits.  These, combined with further research using websites, books, and films, enabled me to piece together the story of Shirley Levy, an eleven-year-old girl in southern CT, who worries about the war and dreams of singing on a record.

This past summer,  I was out to dinner with my dad and decided to ask him a few of my questions. “Is it true Grandma had a nervous breakdown during the Depression?”  That was all it took. “Yes, it’s true.  She was in the hospital for a while, but that was the least of our problems.  Around the same time, my  father lost his job and disappeared, Aunt Winnie’s baby died, and my uncle committed suicide over a girl.  All in one summer.”  I was stunned.  I had never heard these stories told with such clarity.  “But if you really want a good story, ask me about the day I saw the Hindenburg.  It flew right by me in the morning and  blew up that very afternoon.”  And there it was, the inspiration for my latest book, Jack in July.

So don’t be shy. Find people who have stories to tell and ask away. You may be surprised at what they have to say. I was.