Where and when, then what. But most of all, who, how & why - Rowena House

Two years ago today, here on ABBA, I went back to my old stamping ground - journalism - to see if the basic questions good reporters ask of a true story could help me plot authentic historical fiction which is also a decent yarn.

Happily, I can now say it worked as yesterday (hence the late posting of this blog) I finally completed the development and planning stage of the work-in-progress with a full chapter breakdown.

Ho-bloomin-rah.

Who, what, how, where, when and why is the order I always remember these founding questions of news reporting.

But for historical storytelling I now think there is a better order in which to tackle them: where and when, followed by what, then the cluster of who, how and why.

Where and when set the scene for any story. For historical writers, another time and another place create the realm both the author (conceptually) and their characters will inhabit. Selecting where and when is, therefore, a preliminary step.

The basis on which we decide might be intuitive or subjective, influenced by a place and time we’ve loved reading about. Or it could be objective: there’s a gap in the market for X or finding an incident that has under-explored and dramatic possibilities.

An intriguing event defined the where and when of my WIP: Lancashire and London in the second half of 1612. Neither were familiar, so the story demanded a lot of research, which is great. Learning is one of the joys of historical fiction as a genre.

Learning is also fundamental to a story’s What.

For this WIP, nailing down the What has occupied much the past two-and-a-half years, since it requires both a broad and a detailed understanding of my small corner of the past, fathoming what lies behind its official history and what was never recorded.

What is also an artistic choice about theme and focus and genre. It encompasses the biggest question of all: ‘What on earth am I trying to say here?’ Often accompanied by its nagging sibling: ‘Are you sure that’s really worth all this effort to say?’

My What is not done yet. It’s a question I expect to return to again and again as I’m drafting and editing, refining and nuancing. What is the story: a work-in-progress. Progress, however, proved impossible until I had sorted out the cluster of Who, How, and Why.

Who a story is about can be a complex, value-laden decision. I’m about to make time to read the new work by Janina Ramirez, Femina: A New History of the Middle Ages Through the Women Written Out of It. The title, I think, says it all.

In my period, known as early modern, few women left written records behind them, either. Privileged and powerful men dominate its history – rulers, occupiers, churchmen – though (male) scientists and secular thinkers were becoming more significant. For my story about a witch trial, only one primary source remains, a propaganda pamphlet written by a male court clerk who quoted the male trial judge directly and at length but mediated and manipulated every word the accused women were meant to have confessed.

Since no other record survives, we can never know what these women said, nor what was asked of them by powerful magistrates and the goaler who had them in manacles and chains. I think my book blurb should read, ‘In this dark corner of England’s past, it is the record itself that falsifies history’.

But back to those questions…

Two years ago, I hadn’t worked out how to deal with the real people on whom my characters are based, beyond some vague pledge that queens and witches would be treated as equals. (Pompous, moi?)

I had also made what I now think was a creative mistake, linking the What of the story with the question of How it would unfold, how it would be structured. I blamed not knowing How the story would work technically for its painfully slow progress.

As a result, I spent months researching experimental structures, tandem storytelling techniques, flashbacks, flash forwards, and new fiction genres. It was great fun mixing and matching subplots and inventing a dual timeline/dual narrative, but it all got rather complicated, and the result got ditched earlier this year as self-conscious and ‘clever’ rather than the sort of thing I’d want to read myself.

How, then, did this wonderous beastie, a full chapter breakdown, come about?

I reframed the question.

To explain.

Back in August 2020, I said here on ABBA, ‘My How is now well and truly underway; and given the Who, What, Where and When are largely determined by the historical record, that just leaves the Whys to figure out … Why did the clerk write his pamphlet? Why did the trial happen all at? Why were the dedicatees given such fulsome praise, and why did a mere clerk feel empowered to quote the king extensively?’

These proved valid questions that needed answers, but they were also misleading when the aim of asking them was to write fiction rather than to understand history.

Put simply, the answers didn’t tell a story.

As a writer of character-led fiction I only found the necessary answers after reframing the questions: who were these people? How did they think and feel? Why might someone with their unique thoughts, beliefs, fears, doubts, hopes, ambitions, backstories, and anxieties do what history suggests they did?

Which gets us to the issue of agency and power.

At heart, I believe the degree of agency we give our characters is a function of our desire for authenticity over escapism.

Superheroes have agency, power, and self-determination in abundance, with a splash of weakness thrown in to make them ‘human’. In kids lit, children make decisions.

IRL, wealth, power and social status are inexorably linked. Joan of Arc got burnt by the English for not staying in her lane; employees get told what to do employers.

For my story, a more authentic question than why a junior clerk felt empowered to quote the king in 1612 is who told the junior clerk to quote the king and why. How an individual navigates their personal web of power relations then becomes the engine of the story.

After all, what says more about character than how someone responds to those who hold power over them (complying, grovelling, deceiving, defying) and to those with less power (bullying, ignoring, helping, enabling)?

Now I write it this all seem obvious. I wonder why it wasn’t back then?

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