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Waiting for the Hmmm
I don't know about you, but the history books I had to read while growing up had a number of things in common: they tried to give a
complete overview of our past by presenting lots of names (usually of famous individuals), lots of dates, and lots of events. All written in a very even, very serious—some would say dry and
passionless—sort of prose.
I would read a book once, twice, and sometimes more, but not much of it stayed inside my head. Feel free to blame my feeble brain for
much of this. Still, I can't help but think the way these history books were constructed and written contributed in some part to my inability to recall much of what was in them.
So when I decided to write books I told myself that I was absolutely, positively not going to write like that. Not that I made a formal
proclamation or anything so bold. I think it was more of a gentle hope that I might write something that would stay with a reader for more than an hour or two.
Of course, the first few books I wrote tended to be sweeping overviews of subjects written in a very serious, very dry way. Hey, old
habits are hard to break! But I did begin to learn some things.
For instance, among my early books was a history of tractors, which I boldly and imaginatively titled Tractors. Despite my
father's pre-pub prediction that it was sure to be a best seller in Russia, it managed to get a few nice reviews, including one that was starred. Now that was a pleasant surprise. When I looked at the
reviews again I noticed something—many included a reference to the rather obscure individuals I discussed as contributors to the evolution of this vital farm machine. The old gray matter began to heat
up. Hmmm, maybe I should hunt out more of these not so well known people who were a part of our history and do books about them.
Another book, Weird and Wacky Inventions (I'll let you figure out what this one was about), also received some positive notice. Again, the brain went to work. Hmmm, maybe humor has a place in history.
Sometimes, I changed the way I approached books because of dumb luck. Take what happened back in 1985 while I was doing research at the
Newark Library. I spotted a book sitting in the middle of a big table when I arrived in the morning; the book was still there and looking very lonely late in the afternoon. Being nosy I picked it up and
discovered it was the Civil War diary of a fifteen-year-old Union soldier named Elisha Stockwell Jr.
Hmmm, I thought, I didn't know kids so young had fought in that war. I mean, my school day history books only talked about the adults
involved. What's more, Elisha described his years in the Union Army in an amazingly vivid, detailed, and funny way. Why not let him and other young soldiers talk about the war in their own words?
This started my search for other Union and Confederate voices, which eventually led to my doing The Boys' War. Then while I was
retyping the final manuscript of that book my wife Alison leaned over my shoulder and pointed to a quote I'd set off in classic extract fashion: as a block of type indented left and right. Why not just
run it into the main text, she suggested. A little like a piece of dialogue.
I didn't go Hmmm, what a great idea right away. I am a rotten typist and I couldn't face the prospect of redoing an entire manuscript.
But a few days later I realized that blending quoted material into the text would make them look less formal, and that the flow of the text would be smoother and more natural too.
So you see, the way I do my books—what I include in the text, the people I focus on, even the way the type sits on the page—has
changed over the years, one little step at a time. An editor's revision notes might contain a comment or suggestion that sets me thinking; a young reader might write to say she liked or didn't like some
particular part of a book, and I'll see a different way to approach material in the future. I never know where an idea to improve the way I write might come from or where it might lead me. All I know is
that I try to keep my mind open and waiting to hear that Hmmm. •
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About the Author:
Jim Murphy grew up in Kearny, New Jersey, a smallish working class town on the Passaic River. He became
interested in history when his sixth grade teacher began the school year by announcing that "Not all Indians were bad people," an idea that had never appeared in any book, TV show
or Hollywood movie experienced by Mr. Murphy or his friends before this time.
He has written over twenty-five books, almost all of them dealing with American history, and he has received
a number of awards and honors along the way, including a Newbery Honor Book Award, A Siebert Honor Book Award, A Boston Globe-Horn Book Honor Book Award, two NCTE Orbis Pictus Awards, three Virginia Cup
Awards for Nonfiction, and a Washington Post-Children's Book Guild Non-Fiction Award.
Recent Books
Blizzard! The Storm That Changed America (2000), Scholastic Press
Pick & Shovel Poet: The Journeys of Pascal D'Angelo (2000), Clarion Books
A Young Patriot (1996), Clarion Books
The Great Fire (1995), Scholastic Press
Across America on an Emigrant Train (1993), Clarion Books
To contact this author or illustrator, please use the information for his or her publisher provided on our list of CBC member publishers.
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