I love researching new stories. I love gathering information that adds layers to the worlds I’m building and fleshes out the characters I’m creating. Ninety-plus percent of what a writer learns in the course of research probably doesn’t need to be in the story (Note: I read a suspense/thriller novel a few years ago where the author spent pages-PAGES!-explaining the DNA comparison technique used by the local PD. End result: Protagonist learns the dead person is related to the suspect. Technique used had NOTHING to add to the plot or result.) But we like having it in our heads as we write.

Now and again, research is a way to avoid actually writing the story. Yes, there IS such thing as too much. Or at least spending too much time on it. Background info and facts for the story is one thing. Procrastination is quite another. Yeah, I’m guilty of that too.

Recently, I had a different sort of research-related issue occur. A few month ago, I had woken up with what amounted to a back cover copy of a book as clear in my head as any storyline I’d imagined. It sounded great! Something fun! Something different! I was raring to go on it.

The story, a post-apocalyptic tale set in a location near my town, would require some background info on the site as well as some historical research. I wanted to learn what folks prior to the current level of tech did as far as food, industry etc. because my characters would be living in a somewhat “throw-back” society. With that in mind, I borrowed books from the library, bought local history books, scoured the Internet for info. I absolutely fell in love with Alaska and Canada in that time period.

I started writing the post-apoc story. I loved the characters. Loved the setting. A bit of the denouement was fuzzy at the moment, but it wouldn’t be the first time I wrote a book without having it completely sussed out in my head. With some fits and starts, I managed to get over forty pages hammered out.

Then…then I spoke to a local man. My husband, oldest daughter and I were wandering through an old cemetery site that almost no one in town knew existed. It’s located between two homes, and as we searched (only two standing headstones) one of the neighbors was outside cutting wood. We got to talking to Marv, and he told us some interesting bits about the cemetery (like how in the 70s some group decided to help clean up by picking up bits of wood strewn about. Unfortunately, a lot of that strewn wood turned out to be wooden placques that had names and dates) and local history. “Yeah,” he said, “There’s a baby buried here somewhere. Its mother was a prostitute found dead by the railroad tressle back in the day. She’s not buried here though.”

And this is where my WIP train went off the tracks. Suddenly, my research into pre-tech age society became fodder for a historical murder.

As a result, I did MORE research, and I’m looking forward to chatting with the museum curator about the local “sporting women” who plied their trade here. The post-apocalyptic story is on the back burner, but not forgotten. My husband suggested doing a three book related series involving the area and murder. If I can come up with a present or near-present day tale, I might just do that.

But it’s time to put all that amazing information to work and get words on the page. If you need me, I’ll be in early 20th century Alaska with the good time girls and US marshals. Twenty-three skidoo!