What happens when an historical author writes a contemporary story…

What happens when an historical author writes a contemporary story? It’s like that old fable about stone soup.

A stranger comes to town and starts heating up a large pot of water with a stone in it. The townspeople gather around, curious about what the old guy is doing. He tells them he is making stone soup and makes a show of tasting the water as it heats, adding a bit of salt and pepper.

As a crowd gathers, he offers to share his meal. “But,” he says. “It would taste better with a carrot in it.” One housewife hurries home to get a carrot, which he then cuts up and adds to the pot. “And maybe an onion,” he suggests. Another gal runs home to get an onion.

By the time the stone soup is finished, every person in the village has contributed one item, and the resulting and abundant stew fills them all with a deliciously warm supper.

And how, you are certainly asking yourself, does that apply to a story?

If you are a reader of historicals, then you know that only period-appropriate words, references, and locations can be used if the manuscript is to be authentic. For example: mesmerized. Franz Anton Mesmer died in 1815, and in 1830 his technique using relaxation and suggestion made its way to America. The first time mesmerized was used to describe a general state of being enthralled, however, was in the 1860s.

Up until now, that word has been off-limits to me—not anymore! In it goes.

What else? Computers. The internet. Google. Smart phones. Cable television. Flat screen TVs. DVRs. Microwaves.

All of it goes in. I’m positively giddy!

Online dating services. Reality TV. Social media. Cult classics.

I’m out of control…

YouTube and cameras everywhere: night vision cameras, thermal imaging cameras, motion detection cameras. Even a “rufie” assisted crime.

And it doesn’t stop there—the story takes place in Phoenix, my home town. So local hotels, restaurants, and attractions get thrown in as well.

I can use contractions! Text-speak! Cultural references from the 20^th and 21^st centuries!

And slang! Are you picking up what I’m throwing down? J

The stew of my story is being spiced by all sorts of ingredients that I have never been able to use, and I’m having a blast. Random information that I pick up along the way makes it in. Why not? It’s contemporary!

*sigh*

As much fun as this has been, I won’t stay here for long. Once this trilogy is finished, my next stories will be set either in the 1840s or the 1940s, depending on which I write first—so I’ll be back to Googling, “When was blah-blah-blah invented?” and checking Etymology Online for the earliest use of a questionable word. That’s okay. It’s what we historical writers do.

But for now, I’m going to pull in another popular television genre. And the Arizona Renaissance Faire. And The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Flavor.

Visiting Norway's Arctic Circle!

As authors, visiting the settings of our books is extremely helpful in writing those settings in a believable way. For this reason, many authors place their stories in locations with which they are already familiar – because readers from those areas will know if the author is making things up! Not only will they know, but they will call the authors out on any mistakes.

So what is an author to do if they want to write someplace in a time far away, or off the beaten path? The best answer is, obviously, to visit that location. Some of us are blessed enough to be able to do exactly that.

I write historical Norwegian characters in stories set in Norway, England, Scotland, Spain, and America. So far.

I have been to England, Scotland and Spain, and in July of 2011 I was able to spend nine days in the southern part of Norway, exploring from Oslo to Bergen, with a side trip to Arendal – my fictional Hansens’ ancestral home. I watched the sun set at 11:30pm, and rise again at 3:30am. I saw fjords, mountains, waterfalls, glaciers, and rivers. I walked the old streets of Oslo. I ate delicious and generic fish soup, made from that day’s catch.

I discovered that rivers of glacier run-off are a silt-laden opaque turquoise, something I would never have known to describe. I was told that the end of the Viking era was 1070 AD. I stood in the ancient stave churches which were converted from pagan halls to houses of Christian worship at that time. I learned that a secure sod roof requires seven layers of birch bark to keep the building dry and warm. Not six; seven.

All of these tidbits have worked their way into my books, adding authenticity to the narrative. One thing was missing, though: I had not yet experienced a Nordic winter.

This February, I did.

I took a “Northern Lights” tour into the Arctic Circle, sailing on the iconic Hurtigruten line from Tromsø over the top of Norway to Kirkenes on the Russian border. This time, the sun rose at 9:30am, and set at 2:30pm.

The arctic coast of Norway is as scattered with rock outcroppings and islands as the rest of the country – but up there, they rise from the sea treeless and covered in snow. Whenever a flat surface extended from one of these rocky mountains, hardy fishermen had established little villages. Colorful houses clustered together against a white backdrop, with the spire of a church as their anchor. The Hurtigruten ships are their connection with the rest of the world, as these working passenger ships carry mail, packages, and people from town to town.

And then, there were the lights.

When I saw the Northern Lights for the first time, I stood with my mouth open, stunned by their behavior. They move. They grow. They get brighter. They fade. When seen from the side, they have that “curtain” look to them: a ruffled bottom with shards shooting upward as they literally unfold across the sky.

When they are directly overhead, they flow and swirl, like a broad stream hitting a rock. They surge. They retreat. They are never still. Green is the most common color, but our display shifted to white, and then to the faintest red on the edges. Utterly spectacular.

Most people assumed it would be really cold, but the Gulf Stream flows along Norway’s western coast. The ocean does not freeze there, and there are no icebergs. Air temperatures were in the mid 20s – only six or seven degrees below freezing. When the winds were calm, it was bracing and refreshing.

Inland, however, the temperatures were lower, and the fjords were frozen solid – providing paths for racing snowmobiles, and ample opportunities for patient ice fishers.

I cannot begin to explain how amazing it has been for me to visit Norway these two times. The country is “real” to me now, and I have made some friends there. I will find a way to go back again someday. There is just too much more to see, too much interesting history to explore, and too much plot potential in this generally unfamiliar and unbelievably beautiful setting.