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The Predatory Animal Ball

Our Research Notes series invites authors to describe their process for a recent book, with “research” defined as broadly as they like. This week, Jennifer Fliss writes about The Predatory Animal Ball from Okay Donkey. The collection includes “Degrees”, previously published by Necessary Fiction.

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I am not a historical fiction writer and I don’t often write directly from real events. So, when I think about it, when I think of the density of research those writers have to do, I instinctually think, no, I don’t do research. But that’s not really true.

I am often inspired by something very specific: items, nouns, places. I begin writing purely from whatever is already in my head, but as I pursue my story’s purpose, I find myself turning to the internet, and not just as a distraction.

The internet has made so many things easier and we can argue whether that is entirely a good thing or not, but wow, has it made my writing richer. And truly, often the real world is stranger than what my brain can come up with.

For example, in something I recently wrote, I used the word “fluke” in some dialogue. And then, for some reason, I Googled it and learned it meant a positive lucky occurrence, which I didn’t know. It apparently came from billiards. I had thought it was neutral. Then I noticed that this new thing I learned worked so well in my narrative! So, I had another character use this as a tidbit of knowledge and shared it with my protagonist.

Research, for me, doesn’t come before I write. It isn’t part of how I decide what to write. It’s an after-effect and it becomes a critical building block to give more depth to my stories. What I learn may not necessarily always make it into the final work, but I’ve learned something new and it also then may end up being fodder for a new story.

Here are a few interesting things I learned from my research for the stories in “The Predatory Animal Ball” and would like to impart to you.

Owls’ ears are asymmetrical. And contrary to what we often say, they cannot move their heads all the way around; it’s 270 degrees — 135 degrees in each direction. That a group of owls is called a parliament actually came from C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia. I’d love to coin a collective noun in my writing and have it become the accepted term. They also feed their strongest babies first.

When you Google “field mice” you mostly get search results on how to get rid of them.

A colony of honeybees lives on the roof of Notre Dame in Paris.

Towels were first used in the 1600s in Turkey, where they had bathing rituals for many life events. At the time, Turkey was under Ottoman rule and since the Ottomans were so good at weaving carpets, they used that skill to make towels.

In the 1860s & 1870s, William Morris produced wallpaper, among other things. The green in these decorative wallpapers contained arsenic and caused many dwellers to suffer mental illness as a result. I continue to wonder if this was an inspiration for Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s short story, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” though my research found no connection.

A long time ago in England, a knocker-upper was a profession. They were human alarm clocks, rousing people by going around and knocking on doors or windows.

There was a whole sub-section of medieval art and literature filled with violent bunny rabbits. This made me think of the movie, Donnie Darko which made me think of the song “Mad World,” sung hauntingly by Gary Jules but originally by Tears for Fears. I went to see Gary Jules in concert once solely because of that song.

At the Guggenheim Museum in New York, there is an exhibit of a lightbulb that simulates moonlight. I got to that because I Googled those new-fangled lightbulbs — the compact fluorescents — that remind me of the curving ramps inside the Guggenheim.

A 505-million-year-old fossil of a set of claws was named after Johnny Depp: Kooteninchela deppi. Tom Cruise was almost cast to play Edward Scissorhands. Can you imagine?

Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai translates to “A boat as fragile as butterfly in May” (and it’s by Rimbaud).

At the Vienna Opera House, Placido Domingo once received a standing ovation that lasted about an hour and a half.

Gabardine, in olden days, was a loose long jacket-like garment, worn by Jewish men. In modern times, Burberry made it famous as a fabric and not a piece of clothing. When I think of Burberry I think of scarves and trench coats with plaid lining, but Burberry’s gabardine was worn by Polar explorers like Shackleton, Amundsen, and Mallory in the early 1900s.

Surplus stretchers — the kind that carried injured and dead soldiers — from WWII have been repurposed as fences in England.

The little perforations in brogues were intended to allow water to drain from the shoes when those wearing them crossed wet places like bogs.

Nwt, or “Nut” was the ancient Egyptian goddess of the sky and all bodies. It was believed that during the day, the sun crossed her body and at nightfall she swallowed it. In the morning, the sun was reborn again.

If you Google “Nwt” the first hit is for The National Walleye Tour.

The word “mirror” comes from the Latin word, “mirare,” which means to wonder at. In Spanish, mirar means “to look.” Mirage must come from this too. The first time a Hall of Mirrors seems to appear in literature is in The Phantom of the Opera. I had no idea it had been a book.

There are purring cats and there are roaring cats but there are not cats that do both. Cheetahs purr. Lions roar.

When I searched for other general information about the animal kingdom, I got sidetracked and ended up at Animaniacs, the nineties animated series, whose full title was Steven Spielberg Presents Animaniacs.

The word “gargoyle” comes from the French “gargouille,” meaning throat. Which sort of makes sense and makes me think of the word “gurgle.” They initially were used as waterspouts. Technically, if the creature is simply ornamental, it’s supposed to be called a “grotesque.”

Dandelions are often the first plants to regrow after land devastation like a fire. They’re considered “pioneer plants.” In 2019 in L.A, there was an art exhibit entitled The Dandelion Wish Factory. Your wish would first be analyzed and if it passed muster, you’d receive a dandelion for you to send down a chute for processing.

Tillandsia are air plants and to care for them you only need to spray them with water every so often. They don’t even need soil. When they propagate, their offspring are called “pups.” They’re also related to pineapples.

There were pineapple rental ships in 1700s England. The fruit was associated with wealth, so while you couldn’t eat your rented pineapple, you could at least seem rich.

Charles Lamb, an English writer from around the same time said this about pineapples: “Pleasure bordering on pain, from the fierceness and insanity of her relish, like a lovers’ kisses she biteth.”

A swath of cut trees is called a harvest unit.

The fruiting part of the mushroom, the part you see growing out of the forest floor or a tree trunk is just 5% of the actual organism. Mushrooms are genetically closer to humans than plants. This makes a certain kind of sense.

When writing, it seems only 5% of the process is what you end up seeing in the story itself.

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Jennifer Fliss (she/her) is a Seattle-based writer with over 200 stories and essays that have appeared in F®iction, PANK, Hobart, The Rumpus, The Washington Post, and elsewhere. She was a Pen Parentis Fellow and recipient of a Grant for Artist Project award from Artist’s Trust. She has been nominated four times for The Pushcart Prize and her story “Hineni” was selected for inclusion in the Best Small Fictions 2019 anthology. She is an alumna of the Tin House Summer and Winter Writers’ Workshops and can be found on Twitter at @writesforlife or via her website, www.jenniferflisscreative.com.

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