Celebrate Nonfiction

Exploring the Joy of Nonfiction Reading and Writing

My Favorite Research Story by Heather L. Montgomery

Today we continue the series in which award-winning
nonfiction authors discuss the joys and challenges of the research process with
an essay by Heather  L. Montgomery. Thank
you, Heather.

I’m a science nerd. I write about awesome
animals. Catching crayfish, dissecting deer, or pulling a rare rat from a
scientist’s trap—that’s my kind of research!

Historical research is
not my thing; normally I don’t even read biographies. But editors kept hinting that
I should write a picture book biography, s
o I gathered a mountain of biographies on
my science heroes and dug in. Page by page by page I climbed that mountain.

Every once in a while, I’d
read a scene that made me care about that history. For instance there was the scene
where young Valerie Jane collected worms and tucked them under her pillow for
safe keeping—instantly, I could relate to that child, the one who grew to be
Jane Goodall.

Reading on, I spotted several more stories of nature collecting. An idea wiggled in the
back of my brain. It was like something seen through the fog, so shadowy I
could not be sure that it was really there. Slowly, the idea grew into
curiosity: What other
scientists were incessant
collectors as kids?

With
that question burning in my brain, you couldn’t keep me out of the library. It had
me speed-flipping in those biography stacks
.

William Beebe—check!  

Theodore
Roosevelt—check!

Charles Darwin—check!

I imagined each of them
sitting on the floor, sifting and sorting artifacts. Was this a habit young
scientific minds naturally fell into? Had their hobby been the quiet beginning
of their science skills?

Mining my own
experience, I remembered collecting shells, stamps, and more. My scientist
friends reported doing the same. Suddenly, I had something I wanted to say.

But, as any nonfiction
writer knows, a few examples do not make a book.

Who else collected?
Where else could I find anecdotes?

Soon my fingertips
were clicking through digital archives
and diaries. One day I discovered gold—a story that extended a fact I knew
(young William Beebe collected) into a life lesson (some things, like bird eggs,
should be left alone).

Another day I caught a
glimpse of something hopeful, spent a week tracking down a 300-year-old Dutch
text,
crawled
for hours
through a clunky
translation, and then hit a dead end. The book contained not a single word
about Maria Merian’s childhood.

Maybe I should
interview experts?

At first I was shy of
that approach. They’d think my idea—that these stories could show the roots of
scientific inquiry—was foolish. Eventually I scraped up the courage to email
some questions. That’s how I discovered a story I was counting on (about
Alfred
Russel Wallace collecting fireflies as a child) was unsubstantiated.

And so the research went until I finally had a list of sweet childhood
stories. After organizing them in chronological order, I just knew I had a book. But as I dreamed
about what said book might look like, I saw a problem. My tidy collection of
scientists all looked the same. That was not
what I wanted to say.

I
returned to th
e library hoping for
more inclusive examples. Unfortunately, the few books that matched my needs
were short on childhood stories. For months my research went stagnant.

Then one day I was
sitting in a stiff chair at a science symposium in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, when a
speaker said something about collecting butterflies as a child.

Oh! I could include
modern scientists! My quest began again. I started asking every scientist I knew:
What did you put in your pocket as a child?

That was fun, but took
forever. Tracking down folks who are working in remote places, stumbling through language barriers, waiting
months for an interview that yielded no usable story . . . at that rate, I
would never find the pieces I needed.

Several years later while
interviewing a South African scientist for another project, I brought up that
question on a whim. She only remembered carrying tissues, but said: I know people
who could tell you stories.

How could I reach
them? How could I funnel the right stories
my way? A survey. A Google survey was the tool to use.

A few days later, I
had all the stories I could handle. Bronwyn picked up animal poo, Irfan brought
home a fish parasite, Diego wrapped a lizard in a box and gifted it to his mum!

Those kids grew up to be a biologist, a parasitologist, and a herpetologist.

This research journey
led me to write What’s In Your Pocket?
Collecting Nature’s Treasures. It reminded me that I’m the only one who can
hear my inner questions. It’s up to me to listen, then let them erupt. Because
when I do, I can turn any topic into my
kind of book. And young writers can too.

We can help young
writers by trusting the inquiry process. By validating ideas through techniques
like Melissa Stewart’s
Idea Incubator. By setting aside time for open-ended
research so that they may follow their questions without fear of falling
behind. By developing rubrics that value innovation in all stages of research.
And, most importantly, by modeling our own willingness to follow ideas that
wiggle in the back of our brains.

Heather L. Montgomery writes for
kids who are wild about animals. An award-winning author and educator, Heather
uses yuck appeal to engage young minds. Her passion for research is evident in
her books, including Something Rotten: A
Fresh Look at Roadkill
, Bugs Don’t Hug: Six-legged Parents and Their
Kids, and What’s in Your Pocket?
Collecting Nature’s Treasures. 

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