Finding my footing in the 17th century

After two years of research, starting to write my historical novel

Since returning from my recent research trip to Europe, I’ve felt the anxious thrill of teetering at the top of a waterslide. Ready to go… but not quite sure what will happen.

I’m finally ready to start writing my historical novel.

This is after two-plus years of research.

One of the questions that writers are often asked by readers—and by other writers—is, how do you know when you’re ready to start writing? While this applies to any kind of book, it’s particularly salient for works like historical novels that require a lot of research.

In my case, it’s intuitive. At a certain point I become impatient with not-writing. I feel like I’ve answered most of the big questions needed to frame the story, or I’ve at least read all the relevant and accessible sources. Of course I’ll keep researching as I go—new questions will arise as the plot develops, and potholes of missing info will need to be filled—but I know enough to start. The balance of my time will shift from 100 percent research to maybe 80 percent writing and 20 percent research.

There’s a point where research becomes a delaying tactic. It’s like knowing your family’s complicated income taxes are due on Monday, so you decide to reorganize the sock drawer. I was doing some of that recently—chasing down small historical facts to a point of diminishing returns, spending hours on a factoid I might not even use. I was aware of it even as I was doing it! I gave myself a little leeway and then said, stop.

Still, there is some pre-writing work that feels important. Even fun! Over the past two years I’ve been collecting images of clothing from my period—the 1660s in the Jewish communities of Europe—and last week I printed them out and tacked the best ones up on the bulletin board over my desk.

My bulletin board

Visualizing how people looked in the 1600s is a challenge, especially for narrow groups like Ashkenazi Jews in Hamburg, Germany. Photography hadn’t yet been invented and there were few painted portraits of non-aristocratic people. Portraits of Jews were even more uncommon. It’s the complete opposite of our digital/cellphone/selfie era, where future historians will probably find themselves with too many images to wade through. (Assuming all those digital images don’t vanish into the ether.)

Anyway, creating a “vision board” of apparel helps me imagine and internalize people’s appearances in the 1660s. I love looking at it; it’s like a small, busy market square on my wall. I also have printouts of places—buildings, streetscapes, city walls, etc.—but not enough wall space to hang them. Currently they’re stacked on my desk.

Images of Hamburg, Germany, in the 1600s, stacked on my desk

Once all those images were printed, trimmed, tacked, and stacked… there was no alternative but to write. So I did!

I started with what will probably be the first chapter, and did about 270 words in that initial session. I wanted to run around the house cheering! (My writing buddy Monica Wesolowska happened to call and I fairly shouted into the phone, “GUESS WHAT!”)

So I’m pleased with myself. But also intrigued by how patchy and stumbling this feels, especially in comparison with the final work on my two previous novels.

I don’t know my main character yet. Yes, I know the facts of her life and her general mindset. But I haven’t yet internalized how she responds to events, how she verbalizes her thoughts, her tone of voice. I don’t hear her in my head. I’m groping my way towards that—is she angry when this certain thing happens? sarcastic? intimidated? how does piety, which was so much more a part of her culture than ours today, show up in her thoughts and conversation?

I worked on my two recent novels, Shaken Loose and Shaken Free (the sequel, coming in early 2025) for about a decade. By the final few years, my main character just flowed. I could put her in a situation and know instinctively how she’d react and what she’d say. I am far from that point with this new book. Right now it’s trial and error. It’s like trying to cross a stream by stepping from rock to slippery rock rather than biking along a smooth road. I need to find my footing.

I write a sentence from her perspective. Does it work? Nope? Re-calibrate and try again. Still not right? Try again. And again….

I’m pretty sure this is just a question of time. I’ll keep writing until I get to know her. I’ll delete wrong turns and rewrite bad sections. I’ll slip off multiple rocks into the stream. Eventually I’ll find that smooth bike path, where my character flows onto paper as if she is a family member I’ve always known. As if she is part of myself.

Right now, after all this time, I am just delighted to be at the stage of actual writing.

And frustrated when I have to step away for shopping, cooking, workouts—the demands of 20th century real life.