One of the many wonderful things about publishing On Wings of the Morning, my first novel, has been hearing from people after they’ve read it. One of our friends from church was in South Carolina last week for a funeral, and her mother had read the book. The lady is originally from Wisconsin and grew up in the time period depicted in the book. Her husband was a crewman on a B-17, and she said I got all the details about the era and about Wisconsin exactly right.
Wow. I have never been in Wisconsin, and I was born after the war ended. Whatever illusion of reality and remembrance I created was done by research and imagination. I obsessed through the first two books to have every small detail exact, but realized about halfway through the third book that I can’t get everything right, and that people who experienced those times differ in their accounts of events and circumstances. It’s like the set for a play: it may look like a real house or living room or factory but it’s not. The novelist uses the two dimensional space of the page or screen to evoke the characters, events and scenes of the three dimensional world. Doing so is the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done, and I am glad to hear of such gracious responses.