Shelves

I used to consider myself strictly a DIYer when it came to book research.

So much so, that I recall more than once seeing an author's thanking a researcher in the book acknowledgments and thinking: 'Why would someone want to rely on someone else to do the most important, and most fun, part of writing a book?'

Part of this really was about me wanting to keep for myself the thrill of discovery, the dopamine jolt or whatever it is that accompanies an archival find: a letter, a diary entry, a memo. I love finding evidence, preferably that which is offline, undigitized and previously buried. Like with my first book, 'The Forestport Breaks," when I discovered in the Oneida County Courthouse in Utica, New York the transcript of a 1900 criminal trial.

I tell you, the dopamine factory was really pumping it out that day.

Library of Congress

Part of my DIY bias is also tactical and springs from my experience in open stacks. Heading for one volume on a library shelf, I have more than once chanced upon a neighboring item of equal or greater value. For example, while researching 'Nightmare in the Pacific,' I navigated through the Institute of Jazz Studies' shelves for a 1993 edition of the invaluable International Association of Jazz Collectors Journal. On my way, I found jazz periodicals shelved nearby that I didn't even know existed.

I call this 'reporting by wandering around,' and it's a precept I still believe in. Whether it's a book on a neighboring shelf, an idea overheard in a hallway or a chance tidbit that prompts some fresh insight, DIY research holds the possibility of collateral benefits.

But with 'Nightmare,' I also wised up a bit.

(To be continued.)

January 9, 2025.