Ask the Author: Rosemary Simpson
Answered Questions (10)
Rosemary Simpson
You’ve hit upon one of the major problems associated with writing historical fiction, a real dilemma when the genre is historical mystery. Which real events does the author weave into the story to create the atmosphere of time and place without distracting the reader from the story line? There is always so much that is fascinating during the research process. Unfortunately, it can’t all be used. Even history buffs can lose interest if they’re inundated with too many facts delivered too quickly and without apparent plot justification. I’ve settled on highlighting one contemporary major event/social problem for each of the books in the series, but I also try to add lots of period detail that the main characters hardly notice. Sometimes the event is the catalyst for the action, as in WHAT THE DEAD LEAVE BEHIND. As soon as I decided on the Great Blizzard of 1888 as the event and laudanum addiction as the social problem, I had to put other material aside . . . until future books in the series.
Rosemary Simpson
Too many to count or list! I know that in addition to whatever else is on my shelf I'll be reading a lot of material for the Gilded Age historical mystery series I'm writing for Kensington. That includes the New York Times archives for the period. There is something absolutely thrilling about reading a newspaper published more than 100 years ago, especially if you are following a developing story. You know how it's going to end, but your source doesn't! That's another bonus to writing historical fiction.
Rosemary Simpson
When I was about fifteen I traveled alone by train from Paris to Munich. I'd left Paris seated in a very ordinary second-class compartment whose French- and German-speaking occupants exchanged polite greetings and then left one another alone. But sometime during the night, there was a problem on the rails. A conductor came through the cars, hurrying us off at a tiny station whose name I never did learn. I'm not sure how it happened, but I ended up on another train in what can only be described as a converted boxcar. Hard wooden benches, slatted wooden sides, the cold night air whooshing into the car as it clattered along. When it stopped, I stayed where I was, waiting for someone to tell me what I should do next, where I was supposed to go, if I had to change trains again. The only other occupants of the car were an elderly couple who spoke neither English nor French, the two languages in which I was fluent. They were very upset that I remained where I was, but I couldn't understand a word they said. Finally, the man picked up my suitcase (there were no overhead luggage racks) and his wife pulled me into the aisle and hustled me along after him, nodding and smiling to reassure me. Almost as soon as we climbed down the metal steps to the platform, they disappeared into the station, leaving me alone again. The train rumbled off and the lights inside the station went out though I never saw a station agent or conductor who might have extinguished them. I sat there on that dark, empty platform until daylight and the next train to Munich. I know it wasn't a dream, but I've also wondered from time to time if what I experienced was a tiny slit in time. Where was I, and what might have happened to me had the mysterious couple not hustled me out of that boxcar?
Rosemary Simpson
This is a really difficult question to answer. Every time I thought of a couple, I realized that I liked one person much better than the other. With one exception. Laurie R. King's Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell. I think she's done a wonderful job of balancing the two characters throughout the series. Sherlock mellows just enough to be almost vulnerable and Mary grows more and more independent. I like the interaction between them, and the private moments that are left to our imagination just add to the richness of the relationship.
Rosemary Simpson
I refuse to admit there is such a thing. I do something that's physically active, even tiring, and gradually my mind starts to work on removing whatever obstacle was getting in the way of writing the next paragraph or scene. Usually it's because what I had intended to write wasn't what the story line needed...I was going off on a tangent. So my critical self stepped in and forced me to do something else until my writer self got it right.
Rosemary Simpson
Creating a world that exists only in your imagination but becomes so real on the page that others can share it.
Rosemary Simpson
The most important thing you can do is to write every day. Writing is a craft that has to be learned and then consistently polished. Start with thirty minutes of concentrated effort and stop before you get discouraged. Then another thirty minutes the next day. Work up to whatever amount of time or number of words you can achieve on a regular basis. Keep track of what you've accomplished. Join a support group. Find critique partners. Write, write, write. And don't forget to read!
Rosemary Simpson
I'm finishing the third Prudence MacKenzie book in the Gilded Age Mystery series. The second book is titled Lies That Comfort and Betray, and is coming out in early 2018. This third one I've tentatively titled Final Portraits. It's going to my editor in a few weeks!
Rosemary Simpson
If you mean the act of writing itself, I can't wait for inspiration to come along. I have to sit down in front of my computer every day and put words on the screen. Once I get past the brainstorming stage, scenes begin to come together and characters usually do what I want them to do. Writing is work. However, there are those wonderful moments when you wake up in the morning with the first few sentences of the next chapter fully formed in your mind. Maybe inspiration is happening all the time and we just have to slow down enough to hear it.
Rosemary Simpson
I had a character in mind and I knew what was going to happen to her. In fact, she was very insistent about her story. What I didn't know was where and when she lived. Then New York had a record-breaking snowfall, and in reading about it I came across references to the Great Blizzard of 1888. It roared into the northeast without warning in mid-March of that year, taking 200 lives in New York City alone, twice that number in the region. This was an era when electricity and the telephone were just beginning to change the way people lived, when automobiles hadn't yet replaced horse-drawn carriages. It was the Gilded Age, a time of great opulence, crushing poverty, and immense social change. As I looked at sketches and photographs of the storm's aftermath that appeared in contemporary magazines and newspapers, I knew where Prudence MacKenzie belonged. And what better place to conceal a body than under huge drifts of heavy snow?
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