Author Archives: Lars D. H. Hedbor

The Central Question

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As I started to write about the American Revolution, I kept returning, over and over, to the same basic question:

How did this come to pass?

How did these colonies, comprising nearly the same population as Mother England, and only feeling loose allegiance amongst themselves, rise up and throw off the rule of the greatest imperial power around at the time?

More critically for my stories, what drove the individual colonists to make the essential shift from being loyal subjects of the Crown to being citizens of the new nation?

My characters have each answered this question in their own ways. Some, indeed, have not made the shift, and retain loyalty to England, even in the face of great personal risk and harm.

It is a fascinating question, and it strikes at the heart of what makes the American Revolution – indeed, the American experience – an exceptional one, even a unique one in history.

It is the question which, above all others, I’m constantly probing at as my characters’ stories unfold across the backdrop of the monumental events that have swallowed up their lives.

Come along with me as we try to find some answers?

Origin Story

I’d long heard my friend talk about the events of the Revolution in the Carolinas, and the only novel I could find that was set in that time and place was frankly terrible. So, I uttered those famous last words, “I think I could do better myself…” Having chosen my subject, I was ready to attempt to draft it as part of the National Novel Writing month challenge. My first day of writing did not start off very well, though.

I was to meet with a group from the kids’ school for a kickoff event last night at midnight, and I dutifully packed up my laptop and my favorite keyboard (and adapter), iPod, camera and headed out to the school.  When I tried the front door, though, I found it locked.

Figuring that I was just a bit early, I decided to return to the car and maybe just think about what I wanted to write.  I was upset to find that, for the second time in a month, the stress of my circumstances had caused me to lock my keys in the car.  No, “upset” doesn’t begin to capture it — angry, frustrated, and horrified.

My cell phone was dead, and it was late enough now that I was pretty sure that I was simply in the wrong location, and without a means of learning the correct location.  Not good.  No money for a locksmith or a cab, and no means of reaching either.  My options pretty quickly narrowed down to one: walk.

The school is about 15-20 minutes’ drive from home, so I knew I had a slog ahead of me.  I ditched the keyboard on the steps of the school and slung my laptop over my shoulder, and set to it.

After an hour or so, I was still making a good pace, and had only managed to get sorta lost once.  After two hours, I was feeling it in my back pretty good, and I was wondering if I was getting a blister.  I also had to navigate a part of the route where I knew how to go by car, but was fuzzy on what to do on foot.  I got through that, and was now on familiar turf again.

About two and a half hours in, I stopped by a patrol car that was set up to do a speed trap and asked advice about pedestrian crossing of the river near my home — the footbridge I was aware of has been closed for construction for some time, and the only other crossing I know of is… on the freeway.  No good. 

He confirmed my fear that I would have to detour a couple of miles out of my way to catch the next bridge with pedestrian access, and offered to call someone for me.  Since I knew my estranged wife didn’t hear the phone at night, I thanked him and said that I’d manage. 

I trudged off into the darkness, and a few minutes later, he pulled up behind me and asked if it would help if he could get me to an intersection just off the freeway.  Since the spot was just a half-mile or so from home, I told him that would be simply wonderful.

He had to see my ID, and patted me down to ensure that I didn’t have anything that I would hurt him with.  The camera shoved into my front pocket gave him a moment of consternation, but he nodded when I told him what it was.

He apologized and said that the only place he could carry me was in the back of the patrol car.  At this point, I was beyond caring about accommodations, and was simply grateful for the ride.  Let me tell you, though – the back of a police car is cramped, hard and uncomfortable.  I cannot recommend it under any other circumstances.

He dropped me off, and I finished the slog home, my feet and legs and back on fire now.  When I got home, my soon-to-be ex-wife was stirring, and she came out to see what had taken me so long.  When I explained, she offered to take me to retrieve the car, so I was finally done with all of the logistics, it was about 4:00 in the morning.

And yet, I figured, between the coffee I’d stopped for, and the fact that if I could hit my word count under these circumstances, I’d have NO excuse for the remainder of the month.  So I sat down and started writing.

2,088 words later, and the folks in my group were giving me virtual high-fives and calling me “hard-core.”  

😀

Well, duh.