As a writer, my resume is pretty straightforward. I received my MFA in 2015. In the years since, I’ve devoted most of my time to researching the late middle ages and the early modern period (1400-1525) in France and Germany.
Why? In graduate school I realized I didn’t have much to offer regarding contemporary American life. Intuitively I roamed the shelves of the university library, reading randomly until I found a crumbling, century-old copy of The Hangman’s Diary by Franz Schmidt.
The Hangman’s Diary is nonfiction and mind-numbingly dark. It’s also exactly what it sounds like. While serving as the executioner for the city of Nuremberg, Franz Schmidt catalogued every man, woman, and child whom he was forced to kill. He listed their supposed crimes, how he killed them, and how they reacted. Some laughed; some cried; some shouted insults; some swore they were innocent, etc.
“This is it!” I shouted deliriously. “I can write about this!”
But I was wrong. For many reasons. First of all, there wasn’t a story there. Second of all, the material was too dark to dwell on for any length of time. My days weren’t wasted, however. Franz Schmidt introduced me to the late medieval world. Soon I was exploring the medieval honor system, trade guilds, and the notable artists of the period.
This led me to the biography of Albrecht Durer. I discovered his precocious early talent, his friendship with his patron, Willibald Pirckheimer, and his difficult relationship with his wife, Agnes, whom Durer abandoned during a bout of the plague. Leaving her in Nuremberg, he fled south and crossed the Alps, venturing into Italy to study with various painters and woodcut artists.
“Here it is!” I squealed with oblivious joy. “I can write about this!”
Again, I was wrong. Albrecht Durer, like myself, lived a mostly sedentary life, meaning there was no zest. No excitement. No plot.
Researching Durer, specifically the tragic death of his mother, drove me toward the religious beliefs of the time, and I found the Reformation. Martin Luther was the opposite of Albrecht Durer. Unlike the famous artist, Luther was a combative asshole and a consummate drama queen. His life was filled with unbelievably dramatic experiences. (Seriously, the 95 Theses were just the beginning.)
“Here,” I whispered cautiously. “Maybe, quite possibly, there’s a way I could tell this story…?”
Why not? I had already researched the time and place, the nature of the society, its art, its justice system, and its politics. It would be a historical epic with an intimate scope, focusing on Luther’s deteriorating mental health, how the split in his psyche paralleled the split in the nation, as Germany sunk into civil war. And I could find a place for Durer! (Albrecht Durer was initially a fan of Luther, though the situation quickly became complicated…)
Days passed. Months passed. Years passed. I fathered a child. I got married. (My wife and I got creative with the order.) We moved from St. Louis to Cincinnati. And madly, furiously, ridiculously, I kept working.
I’m almost done. Finally. I swear.
These days, if I’m not strolling to and from the neighborhood library with my daughter, I’m singing nonsense songs or telling stories about Lizzie the Tiger. If my daughter is asleep, I’m probably seeking out inspiration. Here’s where I’m currently finding it.
Reading:
The Socratic Method – Ward Farnsworth
Pig Earth by John Berger
The Song of the Bird by Anthony de Mello
Washing:
My daughter’s fox pajamas
Jeff Sjerven 