by Jo Scheier Bugay

All writing shares certain inalienable challenges.  Regardless of our chosen genre, who among us hasn’t struggled with writer’s block, imposter syndrome, rejection woes, or an existential crisis about the meaning of it all? Or perhaps all four?  But there are certain types of writing that present unique challenges all their own, as I’ve found out while working on my current project.  

Challenge 1: Choosing a Story

These days, in between merciful bouts of inspiration for poetry, I’ve been working on a new book.  The topic is the life of a former Underground Railroad operative who lived in Philadelphia during the 1800s. 

When she died in 1887, an unknown author published an amazing obituary, briefly hinting at a life that started in slavery, featured an owner from a wealthy Virginia family, and ended with fame across Pennsylvania as someone who saved sixty-three fugitives.  She was also the mother of an influential politician who basically controlled the black vote in the 7th Ward of Philadelphia for a decade. I had never heard of her, or her son, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t either.  Hence my project!

To tell her story, I’ve had to dive into the morass of historical research, made even more challenging by the fact that many of the individuals I’m searching for were once enslaved.  Since slaves were considered property, they were not given surnames except for specific purposes.  Slaves that were sent off their plantation or farm to work for others were often given their master’s surname as a label of ownership. 

Upon individual manumission, or when the entire population of enslaved individuals was emancipated in 1865, former slaves sometimes kept their owners’ names so that members of their family sold away could find them.  But 85% of enslaved individuals took other names.  All of this makes researching a slave, whose owner is lost in the shrouds of history, nearly impossible.  

Even the wealthy, influential slaveholders who are part of this story lived so long ago— mostly in the 18th Century— that documentation beyond the occasional will, land patent, military service, or court case, is very sparse.  

Challenge 2: How to Tell the Story

There are two challenges to this first part of the book.  One is deciding how to share the research, which is key to understanding this woman’s life, without writing like a college student completing an assignment.  How do I present the facts without desiccating them? 

Secondly, how do I admit defeat, give up on finding out exactly who owned her, who manumitted her, when she was married, and is she really connected to that wealthy— and famous— Virginia family? What does that do to the forward momentum of the story?

In spite of exhaustive— or maybe that’s exhausting— research, there will be holes in a non-fictional recounting of this story, even if I manage to make it interesting.  Those holes can be filled with speculation, or with historical fiction. I’ve decided on the latter.

While informed by the research into the key characteristics of this woman, the underground railroad in Philadelphia, slave laws and other topics, the second part of this book will tell a fictionalized story of a free black woman, formerly enslaved, living in Philadelphia and running a safe house.  That’s a real gear-grind for any writer!  A new set of writing challenges accompany this section:  how to avoid cultural appropriation, how to make the setting of 1850 Philadelphia come alive, how to be true to the characters, and the facts, and what assumptions to make about the gaping holes in the data.  Did she or didn’t she?  Was she or wasn’t she?  Why?  

Although the middle of the book, this will be the last section I write.

Challenge 3: What to Tell of the Story 

The last part of the book will be an exploration of this woman’s son— the party boss and successful businessman. I view him as her final legacy.  No need to fictionalize much— this man’s life is incredibly well-documented.  He was in the papers every week.  There are sketches, there are articles, there are quotes.  When telling his story, the situation shifts from a paucity of information to an overabundance.  Now the writer’s challenge is to determine what to include and what to— with whatever regret— throw away.  Is every election worth a mention?  Certainly his association with his political rivals and their joint effort to keep the peace between the races, and wards, they operated in, deserves a few paragraphs. Right?  The decision about what to tell, and what is not critical to the impact of the story, will likely keep me up a few nights. 

One book, three sets of challenges.  Wish me luck.