Charles Salzberg has been a Visiting Professor at the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University, and has taught writing at Sarah Lawrence College, Hunter College, the Writer's Voice, and the New York Writers Workshop, where he is a Founding Member. His freelance work has appeared in such publications as Esquire, New York Magazine, GQ, Elle, Redbook, Ladies Home Journal, The New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times Book Review. He's also the author of the Henry Swann detective series: Swann Dives In; Swann's Last Song, which was nominated for a Shamus Award for Best First PI Novel; and Swann's Lake of Despair.
In his latest book, Canary in the Coal Mine, PI Pete Fortunato works out of a friend’s real estate office after spending a mysteriously short, forgettable stint as a cop in a small upstate New York town. He lives from paycheck to paycheck, so when a beautiful woman wants to hire him to find her husband, he doesn’t hesitate to say yes.
Within a day, Fortunato finds the husband in the apartment of his client’s young, stud lover—shot once in the head, case closed. But when his client’s check bounces and Albanian gangsters kidnap him in hopes he’ll lead them to a large sum of money the dead man allegedly stole, he begins to realize he’s been set up to take the fall for the murder and theft. In an attempt to get himself out of a jam, Fortunato winds up on a wild ride that takes him down to Texas where he searches for his client’s lover who he suspects has the money and holds the key to solving the murder.
Charles Salzberg stopped by In Reference to Murder to take some Author R&R about researching and writing the book:
Researching: My Dirty, Little Secret
Years ago, I became friends with a guy I met when we worked the two lowest jobs at New York magazine. I was in the mailroom; he worked the photostat machine. Both aspiring writers, we quickly bonded and formed a writer’s group. A year or two later, his first novel was picked up by a prestigious publisher and he was, understandably, over-the-moon.
In his novel, which takes place in Alabama where he grew up in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, he mentions blue mailboxes. One day, he gets a call from the copyeditor informing him that during that era all mailboxes around Mobile were grey. They asked him to change it.
It seemed silly to me at the time. It’s fiction, right? So, what difference does it make if the mailboxes in his novel are blue or grey or polka-dot?
Over the years, as I began to get my own novels published, I realized it wasn’t silly at all. Facts do matter, even in fiction and there’s a practical reason why they do. What writer hasn’t received an email from a reader that goes something like, “I read your book and loved it, but on page 137 you said that 88th Street runs east but it really runs west...”
That’s not the only reason accuracy is important. If readers can’t rely on the author to get facts right, it renders the whole work suspect.
Case in point. Bob Dylan’s memoir, Chronicles. On the first page, Dylan writes, “…then down to Jack Dempsey’s restaurant on 58th and Broadway…” Only Dempsey’s wasn’t on 58th Street, it was on Broadway between 49th and 50th streets (I used to pass it every day one summer when I worked as a messenger in the Garment District). If Dylan and his editors can’t get this fact right, how can we trust anything Dylan writes?
This is one reason why doing research, even when it comes to fiction, is essential.
Back when I was making a living as a magazine journalist, I developed my own approach to research. The temptation, especially when starting out, is to research the heck out of everything. But I soon learned there’s a risk with over-researching. The result can be that you get so bogged down in research that when it comes time to write the article, you’re overwhelmed to the point of freezing up, not knowing how you’re going to squeeze everything into your 2,000-word limit. So, you quickly learn to limit the amount of research you do.
I found the less research I did the better interviewer I became. If I knew too much about a subject going into the interview, I ran the risk of not asking the right questions, because I already knew the answers. Instead, I’d keep asking questions until I reached the point where I could successfully channel that information into prose my readers could understand.
I have friends who do just the opposite. They’re more comfortable doing heavy research. Their argument, and it’s a valid one, is that the more they know the less likely they’ll “miss” something important to ask. There’s no right or wrong, but rather it’s a matter of style.
When it comes to fiction, the goal is to create a world that makes sense, while at the same time keeping readers turning pages to find out what’s going to happen next. The last thing you want is readers getting stuck on that “fact” that’s not true, like where Jack Dempsey’s restaurant really was.
And so, if you’re wise, you’re obliged to get the facts right. In Canary in the Coal Mine, for instance, Pete Fortunato, a down and out PI, runs afoul of the mob. I needed to find a group that was especially violent and ruthless. The only way to do that was to research, which ultimately led me to the Albanian mob, a group so violent and unpredictable that even the Mafia won’t deal with them.
Fortunato suffers from anger management issues and insomnia (not a good combination). So, I had to research anger management groups to see the kinds of exercises he would have been put through. I also quizzed friends who suffer from insomnia to find out what that’s like.
For me, research often has to do with geography. I like writing about places I’ve never been—so Wikipedia, Google and Google maps come in very handy. My first crime novel, Swann’s Last Song, was written before the Internet was around. I wanted parts of the novel to take place in Los Angeles, the wilds of Mexico and Berlin. Only trouble was, I’d never been to any of those places. So, I interviewed friends who’d been there. I pored over maps. I read magazine articles. And then I sat down and plunked Swann into those places.
My best friend, who’d actually been to L.A. read the manuscript and asked, “When were you in L.A.?” “Never,” I replied. “Then how did you capture it so well?” Easy. Research. And after the book came out, I was invited to a small book club. One of the women, who was from Mexico, said to me, “you really got the Mexico part so well. When were you there?” She was surprised when my answer was, “Never.” And I can thank the research I did for that.
Oh, in case you’re wondering, I did absolutely no research for this essay.
You can learn more about Charles Salzberg at his website and follow him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Canary in the Coal Mine is now available via Down & Out Books and is available in digital and paperback formats in all major online and brick-and-mortar bookstores.
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