Chameleon

by Sheila Connolly

 

 

Recently I was invited to be the speaker at a private literary club in Philadelphia.  Since I write the Museum Mysteries series based in Philadelphia (in the very neighborhood where the club is located), I was happy to do it.  I've also been going back and forth with the library in the town that is the model for my fictional Granford from the Orchard Mysteries series:  they want to hold an apple festival event next month—with me as the main speaker.

 

I sat down to put together a talk for the Philadelphia event, and realized that for each series I present myself as a different person. When I talk about my writing to others, I'm three different people—DAR member with a family tree that goes back to 1620; former fundraising professional in the big city; daughter of Erin.  I don't have to make anything up, but they're all different.

 

Some of you may remember that I began writing under the pen name Sarah Atwell, with the Glassblowing Mysteries.  This was a work-for-hire series, a three-book contract offered by Berkley Prime Crime, and I am grateful to them.  However, I told them that I had never blown glass and had never seen Tucson, where they wanted to set the series.  They didn't mind—they liked my writing.  The first book in the series, Through a Glass, Deadly, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Book, but that wasn't enough to save the series, which ended with the third book.  Was that because it didn't feel "true" to readers?  I don't suppose I'll ever know.  What I do know is that it's hard to convey the sense of light and air in the desert environment of the Southwest when you've never been there.

 

Now I write three series:  the Orchard Mysteries, set in western Massachusetts; the Museum Mysteries, set in Philadelphia; and the County Cork Mysteries, set in Ireland.  And I have direct personal ties with all of those.  So when I set out to talk about writing the Museum Mysteries, I could point to my more than twenty years of living in Pennsylvania, first with my parents, then as an adult; I can spin anecdotes about working for Philadelphia's financial advisory firm, at a time when the city faced imminent bankruptcy; and I can refer to my various jobs at Philadelphia non-profit institutions, and what they're really like behind the scenes. 

 

 

Choose Column A, the Orchard Mysteries, and I'll tell you about my hundreds of New England ancestors, and distant relatives such as Johnny Appleseed and Ethan Allen and Emily Dickinson; if I'm in "Granford" I can point to the 1790 census, where I'm related to at least a third of the Heads of Household.  The house I use in that series is a real one, built by an ancestor.  I've been inside it several times, from basement to attic, and I've laid hands of timbers that I know were cut cut 250 years ago by people I can identify and I'm related to.  While I may have moved a road or two in the series, other features, such as the Great Meadow, are real.

 

Column C? My grandfather John Connolly was born in County Cork, but regrettably I never knew him.  I first traveled there more than a decade ago, hoping to understand him better, and to learn about Ireland, which is as large a part of my heritage as all those New England Yankees.  I immediately fell in love with the place and have been back several times since.  As for writing the series, I came to realize that a small Irish town in a rural part of the country is as ideal a setting for a cozy mystery series as is a small Massachusetts town (or an equally small cultural community within a big city like Philadelphia).  Cheers had it right:  it's a place where everybody knows your name—and your grandparents', and when your great-uncle Denis emigrated to New Zealand a century ago and who attended the send-off party.

 

Some writers say that the setting is as important to any book as the human characters, and I tend to agree.  Sure, we writers can all do research online these day, including accessing 360-degree views of many places from street level.  But it's not the same as being there and observing.  There are too many small but significant details that you will not notice on a computer screen.  Like all the gum stuck to Philadelphia sidewalks, or the (to us) amusing names of Irish products such as Fairy Liquid (a cleaning solution), or the fact that half the street names in "Granford" came from farms that belonged to my ancestors.

 

What do you think?  Can you sense when an author is making things up and has no real connection to the place?  What details make it come alive to you?