I love research way too much. When
I’m writing a book, I have to watch myself carefully because if left to follow
my inclination, I’d waste precious time researching everything from the weather
to popular colors in Edwardian England to the makeup used by women in ancient
Rome. Most of it never makes it into the book because it’s irrelevant—a bad practice
when you’re on a deadline. Research has to be strategic.
Nevertheless, the siren song of
research still tempts me toward the rocks because you never know what you might
find, right? Like picking through a garage sale or flea market, the prospect of
finding something truly valuable keeps me scrolling. Usually, however, the
fascinating titbits I find have little or nothing to do with my book. I just love
information.
Today I thought I’d share with you
one of the fascinating but useless bits of research I uncovered during the
writing of my first book, A Dream of Death, set on a fictional island in
the Scottish Hebrides. This research may have been useful in another place and
another time (another book), but it had nothing to do with my actual setting or
plot. It involved Stirling Castle.
Of all Scotland's castles, Stirling Castle wins the prize for the
most eccentric resident. Sometime around the year 1500, John Damien, a
penniless adventurer of either Italian or French origin, arrived at Stirling
Castle, claiming to be an alchemist on the verge of discovering the key to
turning base metals into gold.
Fortunately for Damien, King James
IV—arguably the most successful of the Stuart monarchs—was keenly interested in
the new "scientific" discoveries of the Renaissance. He was even more
interested in possessing an inexhaustible source of gold to fund his frequent
military campaigns. And wealth wasn't the only blessing John Damien promised.
Not only would he produce the most sought-after object of the day, the
Philosopher's Stone—that mythical and magical substance needed to transform
lead into gold—but he also offered the king an even more precious prize because
the Philosopher's Stone, when mixed with wine, was said to produce the Elixir
of Life, curing all illnesses and granting the drinker eternal life and eternal
youth.
Not bad, right?
With these tantalizing
possibilities in mind, King James IV provided John Damien with a hidden
laboratory in the castle, along with such luxuries as damask fabric for his
clothing, tapestries, a fine bed, plenty of "aqua vitae" (whiskey),
and all the equipment—flasks, cauldrons, glass
beakers, and ingredients—he would need to conduct his experiments.
When
years passed by and no gold was produced (surprise, surprise), court gossips
began to accuse Damian of fraud. Sensing that a spectacular demonstration of
his powers was called for, Damien announced he had discovered the secret of
mechanical flight and would fly under his own power from the castle to France.
On September 27, 1507, he strapped on a pair of bird-like wings and leapt off
the towering ramparts of Stirling Castle. He dropped like a stone. Lucky for
him, he landed (so the story goes) on a soft dung heap, breaking only a thigh
bone. Damien blamed the failure on the fact that hen feathers had been mixed in
with the eagle feathers he called for—and as we all know, hens can't fly.
In spite
of this, King James IV, a remarkably tolerant sovereign, continued to fund
Damien’s research until the king's death at the Battle of Flodden in 1513. Hope
springs eternal.
What
piece of useless but fascinating research have you uncovered in the writing of
a book? Here’s my real question: how do you discipline yourself so you don’t waste
time searching for the straw that will become gold in your plot? I need to
know.
