Today was the first day of the fifth graders' Civil War unit, and we're using blogs and wikis as their reporting tools. As I was talking about what a blog was and how we'd be writing blog entries, I made a snap decision to show my own blog as an example.
I had already used my novel writing and researching as a good example of how Google is not always the best gathering tool in their bucket of available resources. I told them that I was researching a time period I knew nothing about (1838), a place I'd never lived (North Carolina), and a culture I knew very little about (the Cherokees). Through my research I was able to get to know more about all three, and Google had been a great asset -- until I came across what I called a "wacky website" -- where I read information contrary to everything else I'd learned. In fact, this stuff was way out there, even though the sponsoring organization had a trustworthy kind of name. I had them guess whether or not I actually used this information. And of course they had to back up their answers!
We went on to discuss how Google is great for some things, but not when you're researching the Civil War in a week, especially when your grade depends on how your note taking skills are! Instead, NetTrekker (offered through our district) can narrow down that huge topic into several great websites, making their hunt lots faster and more satisfying.
When we looked at my blog, they already knew my topic from the Google discussion. But it was very cool to share with them what I work on in my "spare" time, outside of school. We were able to talk about things like blog titles, posts, how to upload pictures and post links. We discussed what makes a quality blog -- then we actually wrote one together on a topic they'd just learned about: the Underground Railroad. We collaborated on what made a good sentence, what should be capitalized, what was important information to include or leave out, what should be defined . . . It was every teacher/librarian's dream. Integration of several subjects in one high interest lesson. Bliss.
Now if we can just get our server to keep from throwing us off every five minutes . . .
Photo uploaded from Flickr:cogdogblog
This is a site where the Cherokees camped on the Trail of Tears. The house, of course, was not there in 1838. It's a place called Rattlesnake Springs, located along the border of Tennessee and North Carolina.
(photo credit: James F. Corn for the National Park Service)
It's been plaguing me ever since beginning this daunting task -- what did a stockade look like, what did it smell like, what was it like to live there?
No problem. Just hit Google. Right?
Not hardly.
Well, maybe if I were talking about a generic stockade, the kind I picture when I think of the word. The kind of stockade that is synonymous with "fort". The kind I visited many times growing up in Texas. Fort Parker, for one.
However, the kind of stockade I'm writing about is different. I think.
Here's what I know for sure: 1) the stockades were built in the late 1830's in Georgia, Alabama, North Carolina and Tennessee to temporarily house the Cherokees and other tribes who were being removed to the west in 1838 and 1839.
2)They no longer exist.
3)There are scanty recollections of life inside the stockades from survivors via diary entries or oral histories (these are more often told by survivors' children). However, because the time period inside the stockade was a short compared to the vast and more traumatic experience of the Trail of Tears, little info really comes out through these sources.
Unfortunately for me, a lot of my story takes places within those stockade walls.
So I'm faced with a decision, as a writer: do I make things up, based on the knowledge I have? Call it "artistic liberty"? I'm really not comfortable doing that.
At the same time, I can't allow my writing to come to a grinding halt because I don't know whether every person within the stockade was allowed to have a blanket or not. Or because I don't know how the campsites were laid out within the stockades -- a neat little grid, or mass of humanity? Were the Cherokees allowed to have knives? That's important to know for my birthing scene.
However -- today I happened upon the Georgia Trail of Tears website, where I saw that Dr. Sarah Hill has done extensive research in locating where the stockades once stood in Georgia. I downloaded her report and it was very helpful (and mind-boggling!) as to what the stockades looked like, how many Cherokees might have filled their walls, how long they stayed, and an idea of what the supplies were. Now as to who received those supplies, the army or the Cherokees, is another question.
I'm hopeful now that some of my questions might find answers!
This is part of the Trail of Tears in Tennessee. The mood of the picture is so melancholy you can almost see the march enacted before your eyes.
(Photo credit: Benjamin Nance for the Tennessee Department of Environment and Conservation)
I just finished Chapter 14. A real feeling of accomplishment, because I was stalled for awhile. Why? Who can say. I allowed other things to get in the way of my writing -- like, anything! Also, I listened to those evil little voices in my head that told me I really didn't know what I was doing. I mean, who did I think I was, writing about another century, a far off place, an unfamiliar culture. Surely it would come off as false, and never see the light of day once it was finished -- that is, if I could even finish it! After all, did I really have a good story here? Would anybody really want to read it?
That's the great thing about a writer's group. They don't let you listen to those evil little voices that get you down. Thanks to those women, I didn't get away with laying off my story for long. They didn't even let me get away with changing my story in the hopes of making it more "contemporary"! They soooo weren't buying it. And I'm so glad. I got to hear them tell me the things they loved about my story, the things they couldn't live without if I changed it. It really gave me a boost in self-confidence. And boy did I need it. Scoot over, evil voices!
I'm always looking for pictures of stockades that were used with the Cherokees in the 1830's, and often I find nothing. There aren't many remnants of those stockades left, since they were temporary forts and holding pens. Still, I came across a few cool images that I wanted to share here. Enjoy.
Writing a book sounds so lofty. When you tell friends and acquaintances about your project, they oooh and aahh. But they don't know about all the peaks and valleys that go along with serious writing. People really don't want to hear more than the basics of what the story's about, anyway -- maybe a sentence or two, at that. They don't want to hear about how you get up at four in the morning to write for an hour so that you can get to your real job at seven; how you are often at an impasse in your story, thinking, is anybody going to want to read this, or is this terribly boring? Or how you labor over choosing just the right word, consulting your laptop's thesaurus, and when that one seems inferior, you run to the bookshelf and thumb through the really thick thesaurus on the hunt for that elusive perfect word -- only to return to your original word. Or worse, an extremely common, one syllable word instead. Writing is constant analysis.
What your friends and acquaintances also don't understand is that when writing works, it's like fireworks on New Year's Eve. It's elation.
It's falling in love.
I just fell in love with a new character, when my story took on a mind of its own. I thought I had it down. I knew where the twists and turns were, and it was exciting, all right. But frankly, it bored me. Because those twists and turns had already been written by history. Subconsciously I felt I had to stay within the bounds of the story as it had been written in time, even though I knew my characters would put their own spin on it.
But when a baby is born to a minor character, and this minor character tells Angeline that she will have to take care of the baby if anything happens to her . . . suddenly the story takes a turn I didn't know about. This baby puts a wrinkle on things that sure wasn't there before! What is it they say -- a baby changes everything.
And suddenly I'm seeing fireworks.
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