Research Part 4-- Prove Facts Wrong

I studied the labels on old medicine bottles
and ended up using one in one of
my books. It was hilarious!
"Heals wounds on man or beast." Hahaha
Yeah, I plan to prove that one right!

I haven't done a research post in awhile and I felt it would be fun. We've gathered facts HERE. We've proven them right HERE. We've organised them HERE. Now it's time to PROVE THEM WRONG!

Yeah, you read me right.

By proving the facts wrong, you will deepen your knowledge on the subject which in turn will set your imagination free, you will deepen your characters, which will give them a new life, and you will enrich your plot.

PROVING A FACT WRONG WILL DEEPEN A CHARACTER
- OR AT THE VERY LEAST GIVE HIM A REASON TO LIVE

So in your research, you come across a letter written by a priest. This letter is blatant discrimination against an entire race. This priest is going to be your new bad guy. Why not? He's perfect for your theme.

In earlier posts I mentioned proving things three times. So... it might be a good idea to prove three more times that he is the jerk you believe. Really, anything else you dig up on him will simply deepen his character, right?

What if digging deeper proves...

that he was trying to save them from a horrible death? Huh?

Wait, all by itself the letter really does make him look like a jerk, but it turns out that when you dig a little deeper, it's one of ten letters. Oh. The other letters tell the tale of his journey and his mission. Really, he's still a jerk in your mind, but in his mind, he was a hero on a mission and the letters explain why he feels this way.  His character deepens. Your opinion of him no longer matters. He is a bad guy with a vision, a reason, a mission full of passion. You have to allow him to tell his side of the story.

Can you feel the magic?

I still haven't figured out how to
blow this distiller up.
But it must happen.

PROVING A FACT WRONG WILL DEEPEN YOUR PLOT

Prohibition is a fact that is easy to prove three times. There was no booze being sold, bought, made or distributed. Yeah right. Digging to prove this wrong will bring up all kinds of bootlegging. Now, proving that bootlegging was going on is a little harder. But each time I prove it, my plot deepens. I find new ways for people to get their hands on booze, new characters that excite me. I find myself in tunnels, on trains, in a gang war! Or, just blowing up illegal distillers.

PROVING A FACT WRONG WILL IGNITE YOUR CREATIVE JUICES
I desperately tried to find something exciting that happened in Saskatchewan 1917.

Can you smell the history?

 Why? Because what really happened is boring. I needed to prove these facts wrong. I never did. BUT! My research did give me a good feel of the anger and desperation the farmers were feeling in this time. They could have protested grain prices. They had reason to, they were organized, they were pissed off enough to do it... I never found proof that they did, yet...

I write fantasies, right? You see where I'm going with this, right?

*I can get creative.
Thanks to my research, I have it all set up. And so the riots in Saskatchewan begin. I'm going to rewrite history and it's going to be nasty. If I have the rail line cover it all up afterwards, well, that'll explain why I never found proof...

Now this is my example, but really, what if you prove that those scientists cloning sheep are cloning a few other things? Oooo... I feel a sci-fi or a horror story coming on.

My point is that if you LOOK for the opposite of what the facts prove, you might be surprised at what you turn up. There's a magic in that. No?


*Of course, this rule only applies to fiction.


So... prove any facts wrong lately? It's fun!



Other research posts:
http://tanyareimer.blogspot.com/2011/02/research-part-1-use-all-tools.html
http://tanyareimer.blogspot.com/2011/03/research-part-2-know-what-to-look-for.html
http://tanyareimer.blogspot.com/2011/05/research-part-3-get-organized.html

First Memories

Pulling the pot out of the cupboard without Ma catching me is my first memory. I planned to bring it to Pa, since he was cool about the whole pot thing. Mom was a little stressed about it. Yup. That potty was pink. I hauled the sucker beside Pa and sat down, ready to commit to this whole diaperless world Ma was trying to convince me rocked. 

Actually, if I think really hard, I have one memory before that, but it's kinda like an episode from a horrible comedy show, so I'm not sure how real it is. I asked Ma about it once and her eyes got huge and she said, "You remember that? Yeah, the bears were bad up north." That was her only comment on my twisted memory. huh.

This is what I remember and how my mind plays it back for me. It involves me in a highchair watching my dad make an ass of himself. Yes, my exact thoughts. He was on his hands and knees with a cigarette in hand, although I was pretty sure he didn't smoke. Ma had her hands on her hips, getting ready to tear him a new one for touching her secret cigarettes. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

“They said it’s burn proof, I’m gonna try it out.”

"You're not burning a hole in my new linoleum."

She dived at him to get the cigarette, but he raised a hand and gave her that winning smile that could stop a bull on a rampage. "Trust me," he said as he pushed the cigarette into the middle of the kitchen floor. Even I knew better than to do that.  

I waited for Ma to say something logical, since she was the brains of this operation. “At least pick a spot that we won’t be able to see, in case it’s not burn proof.” She ordered, clearly too late.

“Look at that— see nothing- oh shit.”

“Now, what did you do?”

Just at that moment a giant bird to my left squawk “Oh shit now what did you do?”  I really liked that bird, but Pa gave it a dirty look so I did too.

"Maybe they only meant if you dropped a cigarette on it." Now he was repeatedly dropping the cigarette.

To my right, a sea of suds was creeping at me. Scary stuff and I wasn't sure what to do about that so I cried.

The front door opened and in came Pa’s best friend. He had a wicked cool name like Bruno or Brian and he owned the bird. I was glad he shut the door quickly, because there was a bear out there, I knew that and it always surprised me when people showed up not eaten alive. Then again, this guy was as big as that bear. I cried louder though, because I didn’t want him to take that bird away, and the white foam to my right was getting closer. No one was paying me attention though, because as Ma started to tell Bruno or Brian how foolish Pa was, the washing machine down the hall made a deathly sound. That's when they all saw the white terror creeping at us, and I apparently was in my right to freak out, because they did too. The suds came at us much quicker now, and within moments, they covered the burn mark.

"I thought you fixed that!" Ma yelled at Pa frantically, sloshing through the mess, heading to the bathroom for towels. Hopefully not mine. He had fixed it. I was there, but honestly I only remember that thought, I don't remember actually fixing it. The tools had been cool though, and he let me mess with them.

"Oh shit now what did you do?" The bird squawked again when we were alone in the kitchen, watching the men freak out on the washing machine down the hall. Yup. I loved that bird and offered it the cracker I was supposed to eat, but it was too far away so I chucked it at him, regretting it instantly. What was I gonna eat now?

Welcome to my world, it really doesn’t get any better than that, does it?

What's your first memory? I got reading a memoir last night, and really, don't real world characters just rock?