Our Research Notes series invites authors to describe their process for a recent book, with “research” defined as broadly as they like. This week, Alice Kaltman writes about Dawg Towne from Word West.

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Gaps: A Reflection on Research

Back in the 1970’s when “dancing to the beat of a different drum” was applauded by some of my teachers and considered a sign of indolence by others, I was a good, but restless student. Whenever there was an option to do something creative as opposed to studious, I chose the former. At my alternative high school there were no formal grades or classes, so I designed my own program, which ran the gamut from diligently studying the aggressive behavior of Siamese Fighting Fish at a bonafide laboratory to diligently smoking weed on a bonafide park bench. At college, instead of writing papers I choreographed dances and performed them on roof tops, or illustrated semi-original fairy tales. In short, my post-junior high academic experience was a free for all. And while it was a good start towards a future of self-determination and discipline, there were significant educational gaps, and in those gaps grew insecurity, and inside that insecurity grew avoidance.

Case in point: I avoided doing research. Back in pre-internet days researching required, at the very least, traveling to a library, knowing how to navigate a card catalogue, scrolling microfiche, taking notes, and most daunting; asking questions without the fear of sounding stupid. All this was a tall order for someone as impatient, insecure, and undereducated as yours truly.

Fast forward to the now, when researching is ‘Googling’. This is something I can do as well as the next person, but I still don’t do it much, at least when it comes to writing fiction. Part of me longs to be the kind of writer who delves into ancient documents and writes historical fiction filled with impressive facts, or one who crafts doomsday thrillers involving Chaetophobia (fear of loose or losing hair) or Oikophobia (fear of houses), two phobias I just ‘researched’ with a click of my mouse. But still I resist. Chalk it up to old habits dying hard. My restless, impatient imagination still rules.

Here’s the positive spin: For me research is self-search. It means asking myself many, many questions as I write. It requires tapping into what I hope is a decent understanding of human nature after over 60 years on the planet, and over 30 as a psychotherapist. While working on Dawg Towne, researching required me to take a beat, close my eyes and think what could happen, not what would happen, to the misfits and mutts in the town of Towne. How far could I push these characters and still make them authentic and relatable? What level of believable unbelievability could I uncover in my story to get readers thinking, whoa! I didn’t see that coming but, hey… okay, I’m in.

All the characters in Dawg Towne are familiar to me in parts. I pushed those parts in as outlandish a fashion as authenticity would allow. I’ve known many young women who are too smart and sensitive for this world, though none quite as wacked as Nell. Most of my writer friends who are new parents aren’t quite as blocked as Abe, but they do have their struggles and secrets. I’ve known and loved grumpy old men like Paddy. I was fathered by one named Jack. I shared the stage in my former years as a dancer with many performing artists who were as self-involved and lost as Brady. I’ve not raised a gender-questioning child, but I’ve worked as a therapist with a few, and watched them blossom into gorgeous creatures like David, boldly defying convention, rocking my world and becoming the heroes of their families. And who doesn’t know a woman like Lucinda? One who has sacrificed their selfhood in the quest for a life that looks a certain way?

And then there are the dogs. The more we become a culture obsessed with our furry, hairy friends — pandemic pups and Pugdashians alike — the more we realize we don’t really know what’s going on in their mysterious minds at all. Still, I like to think I’ve known dogs like the dogs of Dawg Towne in some capacity. My own dogs as a child; Mimi an ancient overweight dachshund, whose stomach grazed the floor inspired the character of crotchety terrier Balthazar. There are shades of my needy Labrador retriever Diablo in the depiction of galumphy Golden retriever Angus. And while my beloved Ollie dropped into my life after I’d written Dawg Towne, the pit bull part of this sweet, magnificent creature is quite like Gordon, the premier canine character in this novel.

Writing Dawg Towne was hard but gratifying work, and while it didn’t require traveling to a library, knowing how to use a card catalogue, scrolling microfiche, or taking notes, or even any googling, it did require asking myself many questions, none of them stupid. I’ve finally learned that there is no such thing as a stupid question. If you’re luckier than me, you’ve known that all along.

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