Contemplating Jackson
Time travel is always a difficult proposition, but it gets easier with practice. When I first wrote the novelette version of "Fire of Genius", I had great difficulty knowing where to begin. I knew that the Patent Office was completely destroyed in the Fire of 1836, and I knew that the circumstances under which the fire started were somewhat suspect.
After having read through forty-two pages of eye witness testimony from the Congressional investigation of the fire, I came across a couple anomalies that bothered me. The first was an unlatched cellar window, and the second was a wide open door on the east side of the building -- a door that Mr. Summers, the night watchman, swore he had locked before retiring that evening. The investigation dismissed this portion of his testimony, noting that Summers often drank and had at least once before failed to lock doors while performing his office.
Unable to find either motive or method for arson, the investigation came to the conclusion that the fire had been an unfortunate accident. They had good reason to conclude this: both the Patent Office and the Post Office (located in the same building) had the unfortunate practice of dumping their ashes in the cellar. Still, I could not help wondering: what if Summers was right? Why would that door be open if he had locked it? Stories have started from lesser seeds.
I tried and discarded eight different narrators until the very rational Sarah Elliot stepped into my story and matter-of-factly admitted to being my arsonist. My journal entry, Crap Fairies, includes the opening words with which Sarah begins her narrative, so I won’t repeat them here. But I remember writing the words in almost a trance, and then looking at them and shouting, "Who are you and why did you do it?"
Though steadfastly honest about her part in the fire, Sarah was reluctant to tell me everything at once. I learned things as I wrote the story, the mystery motivating me to slog my way through to the very end. I also have to give Sarah some credit here, too. I became so enamored of both her personality and her struggle for recognition as an inventor that I kept coming back each night just for her.
Now my challenge is of a different nature -- finding a way to expand the story outward. I know how it ends, and I know why the fire happened. So what spark is there left for me to build upon? The building still has to burn down, but there needs to be more people involved, and more complications. I find myself once again interviewing potential characters in my head, checking each one to see if they have something that will move the story in new directions and yet still keep the integrity of the plot.
"Have you considered Andrew Jackson?" Ganpati-Baba asks.
I look up at my muse, startled a bit by this interruption to my train of thought. "What?"
"Jackson. He was President in 1836. Your story takes place in Washington, D.C., does it not?"
"Jackson was a charismatic jerk who suspected technological progress of any kind. What would he have to do with the Patent Office?"
Ganpati frowns. "You are ignoring the man’s complexity. He was awestruck by the Lowell experiment when he toured New England. And besides, didn’t he meddle in the affairs of Sarah’s brother?"
"Okay," I say cautiously. "What do you want me to do with him?"
"It’s fun to write about meddlesome charismatic jerks, is it not?" Ganpati’s smile turns sly. "And think about what Sarah’s reaction to meeting him would be."
"She would loathe him. He was crass, opinionated and had strong feelings about the proper place of women."
"Exactly."
I stare at Ganpati a moment, and then smile back. "I think I owe you a cookie."
My muse snorts. "You owe me a whole box full. But who is counting?"
Jackson... what would Jackson’s reaction be to the nefarious invention that causes Sarah’s eventual downfall? Oh, the possibilities are expanding already.
Hmm |