One of the questions my supervisors asked me recently did my creativity come from my research or did my research come from my creativity. And my only response to that was that it was like the chicken and the egg problem—assuming that we’re ignoring all other egg-laying species and subspecies. It’s challenging to determine which one comes first or which one gives rise to the other.
This is the same for research and creative writing—but more than that. They feed off one another. Take, for example, one of my chapters about a third way through the book. The year is 1718. My character is expecting his first child and he’s a pirate. Now, the year chosen was coincidental, I almost chose 1720, but settled on 1718. Then I looked at the history of that year and the years around it. In 1717, King George I proclaimed the act of piracy illegal. All activity had a deadline to cease or pirates would be hanged.
I already had the idea that my character would be betraying his crew when his child was born. I knew it would consist of a deal with an immortal sea captain, and I already knew what that deal was. The chosen year initially was coincidental but the research into it only strengthened the chosen date because now my pirate was endangering his crew twice. He was forcing them to remain pirates. This would not have worked if I had chosen the 1720 date because the deadline to cease piracy had long since gone. The historical context lends authority to my words, making the creative piece truly impactful.
Research aids Creative Writing
I’ll be absolutely honest. I thought that a PhD had the chance of making me hate the novel I was working on. Feared it’d become too academic, lose creativity. Truth is, the opposite has happened. Because it is like the chicken and the egg. The more I researched, the more ideas I had got for my story. The research is inseparable from my creative piece and my creative piece from the research. Especially the characters.
One of the academic chapters I am working on is about power and how those that—on the surface—seem to lack power, manipulate it. Again, I had characters that I wanted to do this. It’s human nature to manipulate, crave power, change, desire. So all my characters experience something like this… but what the research gave was a why and how.
What the research gives me is another layer or two that I can weave into my novel. The layers add dimensions that I may not have reached without the academic research. But again, if I didn’t have the characters being manipulative, desiring things, acquiring or losing power, then I would not have been lead to the research. Authenticity and credibility that the reader can get lost in.
I love learning new things, so I don’t mind the research. And It’s these last two years that show me how much it can really aid a story. The research hasn’t changed the story. There may have been a few minor details that changed because they didn’t work with the time period, but nothing major that affected the narrative. On the whole, it has made the story that already existed in some form stronger. Scenes that I wrote in a specific way without a why now makes sense because the why came out in the research.
I Can See The Smallest Things
I named this section after Raymond Carver’s short story: I Can See The Smallest Things because I think its relevant. In the story, the gate keeps swinging open, waiting up the protagonist. Sam is attending to his garden with a flashlight, so it’s dark out. There’s two fences next to each other, both neighbours keeping the other out. Sam has poisoned slugs to keep them at bay. When the character gets back to bed, her husband reminds her of a slug.
It’s the small details. The symbolism of the gate, the slugs and the husband that tells you the context of the story. Carver was writing in his modern time while I am writing in a time of my ancestors. To bring the story alive, I need these small details. Like the fact that gin was the most common alcoholic drink at the time, it’s those details that brings the story to life. I can smell the air, feel the difference of the time. Hear the sea. And part of that is because the story is breathing, a breath that the research has given it.
Creative writing is not about presenting established facts; it reaches beyond the realms of the known. And with this, exploration can begin. The things we don’t know—the things omitted from history, can be answered fictitiously. Creative writing allows me fill in the gaps; known in the writery (and probably artistry) world as “creative licence”.
That is to say, bluff but bluff in a way that makes sense. The little details that have been added, they add to the authenticity of the bluff if the story flows. It’s about pushing boundaries, challenging conventions, and exploring new possibilities
Creative Writing Aids Research
The creative process itself plays a significant role in guiding research. As I delve into the world of imagination, elements crop up that now needs an answer. When you’re writing a female-led narrative based around seafaring communities, whether that’s a pirate community or governed sea-town harbours, the land-based woman needs something to do.
Women narratives are often erased and ommitted from seafaring history, but when their husbands and fathers were sailing the seas for a year or more, they didn’t just vanish and reappear on their return. Part of this is what led me to my academic chapter on power because women were aware of their status. They knew they were seen as delicate and insignificant. It’s what allowed them to manipulate things around them, whether that was convincing their father that they should be courting a specific boy, or getting out of crime.
I honestly believe that women of the time knew exactly where they stood and where to bend it. They challenged views of their gender in some cases, but in others it was a useful perception to have. Women who had committed crime were often released with either no punishment or a soft one depending on the sympathy of the Magistrate. And the Magistrate’s sympathy would only rise if she was a mother or expecting.
This is information that I would not have considered looking at if it wasn’t for my creative writing, along with common drinks of the time, marital relationships, gambling and how pirates treated their shipmates verse how governed mariners treated their shipmates.
The Perpetual, Everlasting Circle of Creativity and Research
My PhD has enabled me to do two things that I love: research and creating. I have a calling for both. The act of creative writing sparks curiosity and leads me down unexpected paths, unearthing intriguing ideas and concepts that require deeper investigation. I need to know about our history, our past. I want to understand the events that happened to get us here. To get me where I am now, in the 21st century.
Through creative writing, I have the freedom to experiment, to imagine alternative realities, and to present different perspectives. This imaginative process prompts me to examine research from fresh angles, to question assumptions, and to push the boundaries of then and now.
In this intricate dance of research and creative writing, it’s clear that they are two inseparable sides of the same coin. They rely on each other, constantly influencing, inspiring, and refining one another.
The chicken and the egg problem perfectly illustrates the complex relationship between research and creative writing. Both essential components of the writing process, constantly feeding into each other in a continuous cycle. So, as a writer, I embrace this beautiful but also frustrating (when you cannot find the answers you are looking for) juxtaposition. I know that my research is a muse for my creativity, while my creativity fuels my thirst for further research.