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Master writers weave magic, casting a spell on the reader from the first word until the last. How in the world do they do it? The witch’s brew that enchants us is plot, character, theme, setting, and how these relate to reality. But there’s one more ingredient, which will probably surprise you: research. “Research?!” you ask. “In a fantasy novel? I thought all you needed to do was make stuff up!” It’s true, fantasy writers spin their yarns from threads of the imagination, but what went in to those threads came from our world, not Wonderland, Neverland, Hogwarts, or Middle Earth.
Think about it. Tolkien was an Oxford professor of philology, making him an expert on the structure, historical development, and relationships of a language. Few people were better suited to create the tengwar, alphabet of the elves, or the cirth, alphabet of the dwarves, which were based on runes from our world. Who better than the mathematician, Lewis Caroll, to embody Wonderland with riddles, plays on logic, and math symbolism. As Mark Twain advised, “Write what you know.” It’s a real problem if you don’t know much about your subject matter, and that’s the pickle I was in when I wrote The Stream.
The elements of the story seemed simple. The setting was a stream. The characters spent their whole lives on the water, so they sailed on boats. I thought, easy peasy. How wrong I was!
About the only thing I knew intimately was a stream within walking distance of my house, which I studied at all times of the day and under every weather condition, watching how rain pocked the surface, how storms turned it muddy, and how sunlight flashed like diamonds on the water. I listened to the music of the currents, eddies, and bubbles in summer and winter. I listened to the stutter-slap takeoff of ducks. I smelled the dark aroma of wet earth.
What I didn’t know was a darn thing about boats; sailing; the flora and fauna of the riparian wilderness; the technology available to the primitive people occupying the stream; knife making; basketry; boatbuilding; the myths, legends, rituals, and beliefs of the culture; and the mainstays of their diet and how it was prepared. You might think, well, just make it up. But that won’t work. Though The Stream is set in a fantasy world, that world has to adhere to certain rules, to what is believable. Violate believability and readers are knocked out of the novel and back to our world faster than you can say kindle.
As I wrote, every few pages I needed to stop and do research. If my main character, a boy named Wend, needed to build a fire, how would he do that? If he needed to fish, what kind of hooks would he use? What were they made from? And for that matter, what kind of fish swam in fresh water? What kind of plants would grow near the water, in the shade of trees, and in the sun? One thing that really bothered me was metal. If they spent their whole lives on the water or along the shores, was metal for knives and anchors available? I knew I needed knives in the story, so it was with great relief that I found out that ore has been smelted along riverbanks for a good five thousand years.
To give you a feeling for the rules of Wend’s world, what he ate, and how the stream people played out here lives, here’s a bit of prose I wrote to establish his world. I love the prose, but I ended up not using it in the novel because I found other ways to convey what I wanted.
***
If Wend had stopped to think about it, he would have realized that his family, searching for fruit, nuts, and roots, never ventured far from either shore, that travelers never sailed upstream to tell tales of what lay ahead. Except for tacking and voyages of a few miles, his family never ventured upstream either. When he’d asked his father why, he was told, “It’s a law.” Wend must have looked blank because his father told him to jump as high as he could. Wend jumped, and after his feet landed on the ground his father said, “Now jump as high as the top of the mast.” Wend had laughed, but declared that no one could do that.
“Why not?” his father asked.
“We come down first,” Wend replied.
“It’s a law,” said his father. “And it’s a law that we go that way.”
His father pointed downstream.
If Wend had thought of these things, he would have understood that everyone was tethered to the stream and could only go in one direction. People stopped from time to time, working at abandoned foundries to smelt metal for anchors, chains, and knives, cutting trees to build or repair boats, living in villages, taking over deserted houses like creatures that move into another animal’s shell. They never stayed long, always returning to their boats, always going with the current, always traveling downstream.
***
Back to the magic of storytelling, there’s another reason to do research, besides making the story believable. Research is a tremendous spur to the imagination. I really wanted to use horseradish, for reasons that would be a bit of a spoiler to reveal. Again, I didn’t know a darn thing about where it grew, or even what it looked like, since my only exposure was the white stuff that came with prime rib. Research not only gave me what I needed, where horseradish grew, but a way to lead the reader’s eye across the water—the plant’s wrinkled, spear-shaped leaves—foreshadowing something dark about the occupant of that patchwork of a houseboat on the other shore.
So there you have it. Plot, character, theme, and setting may be the alchemical ingredients in the writer’s magic chest, but research is the fire that heats and melds it, sending the imagination to the stars.
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Synopsis of The Stream:
What if your world was six miles wide and endlessly long?
After a devastating storm kills his parents, five-year-old Wend awakens to the strange world of the Stream. He discovers he can only travel downstream, and dangers lurk at every turn: deadly rapids, ruthless pirates, a mysterious pavilion that lures him into intoxicating fantasies, and rumor of a giant waterfall at the edge of the world. Defenseless, alone, with only courage and his will to survive, Wend begins his quest to become a man. Will tragic loss trap him in a shadow world, or will he enter the Stream, with all its passion and peril?
Part coming-of-age tale, part adventure, part spiritual journey, The Stream is a fable about life, impermanence, and the gifts found in each moment.
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About A. R. Silverberry:
A. R. Silverberry writes fiction for adults and children. His novel, WYNDANO’S CLOAK, won multiple awards, including the Benjamin Franklin Award gold medal for Juvenile/Young Adult Fiction. He lives in California, where the majestic coastline, trees, and mountains inspire his writing. THE STREAM is his second novel.
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I write fantasy and science fiction, and started The Other Worlds with the help of Android 7 in 2013 to connect with fans. I look forward to entertaining, informing and interacting with you!
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