Small Details / Big Picture

By Ashley Lister

My current work in progress, as I constantly tell everyone who listens, is set in a pre-medieval Britain. I’m trying to be as historically accurate as I can with the world I’m building, although I have to admit there is a magical element to the content that allows me to fudge some truths when they don’t quite work within the narrative. This is sometimes called ‘artistic licence.’

However, the attention to the small things is relevant to this week’s theme. To make this particular story work I’ve realised it’s all in the details: the micro completing the macro.

The story takes place in Britain before the Middle Ages. To be (vaguely) specific I’m working in a story world that exists somewhere between 0 and 500 AD. That means I have the huge expanse of half a millennia in which to set my story. I’ve got the massive breadth of a sparsely populated British Isles in which my characters may blunder around. And I’m writing about the enormous emotions of love, lust and desire.

Yet it’s the micro details that enrich the image.

Details such as clothing and common fabrics. Details such as fiscal currencies (if they existed). Details such as lighting in any area that did not contain natural light.

In our contemporary age these matters are addressed in such a commonplace fashion it’s difficult to think of them as ever being issues. I’m writing this whilst wearing leather boots, denim jeans and a black cotton T-shirt. It’s an outfit so unremarkable it barely merits mentioning. I’ve got sterling in my pockets but there are a smattering of Euros on my desk and some dollars in my wallet. My office is lit by a single 150 watt bulb.

Each of these details is so micro in our contemporary day and age it barely merits being mentioned. Yet these small details are the points that will make the completed fiction seem credible and allow readers to maintain the suspension of disbelief as they follow the narrative.

Obviously it takes a macro amount of time to thoroughly research each of these details. But that’s another whine for another day. Below is a page from one of the opening chapters of the current work in progress. It’s surprising how much research went into these 257 words.

The deadbolt slammed home with deafening force. The clang of metal sang against metal. The sound reverberated through unyielding oak doors set in solid stone walls. Tavia knew the thick silence that came afterwards was locked in the dungeon with her. She swallowed as she studied her surroundings. She struggled not to be afraid. And she wished she hadn’t paid two gold pfennigs for this dubious privilege.

Blazing torches hung from sconces on the walls. The flames splashed shadows and a glaring orange light onto the cobbled stones of the dungeon floor. Spirals of black smoke spewed upward toward the faraway roof. Sulphuric smells and unearthly stinks crept from the shadowy corners.

“This is not a waste of time,” Tavia muttered the words like a mystical chant. “It was not a waste of money. It is not a waste of time.”

She said the words softly but with determination, trying to convince herself that they held some truth. She had entered the dungeons against the advice of her twin and without the knowledge of her father. It had cost her dearly to bribe guards and keykeepers to get this far. And she wouldn’t let herself believe that it could all be for nothing. She brushed a stray lock of blonde tresses from her brow and stepped nervously from one foot to the other. She wore wooden pattens with leather straps and the heels tripped loudly against the stone floor.

“F**k off,” a voice called. “I’ve got a hangover and I’m in no mood for visitors.”

She stiffened.