My novel
Williamsburg Hill will be published soon, and I thought I'd share the backstory of how it started. The genre is historical fiction with a dual timeline (present day and 19th century). The back cover blurb begins with the following:
When history touches the present through an old ghost town, its
cemetery, and an ancestral piece of furniture passed down through generations…
The Backstory:
In early 2014, I
began listing ideas for my next book.
Historical fiction was a genre that I wished to attempt, but it was
important to me that the historical part of the book be something that wouldn’t
present a lot of challenges with research.
I lived in the Chicago area at the time, so I assumed some localized
history would be easy enough to research; if travel were required, it would be
simple to do by car. Easy and simple
were far from reality, as I discovered, with legends and lore playing greater
roles than historical documents in creating this book.
I read about a
town in south central Illinois, once active due to its main street being part
of the Old Anglin’ Road stage coach route, that became non-existent in the late
1800s. The town of Williamsburg (or
village as some referred to it) was founded in 1839, and the region was
referred to as Cold Spring. Established
at the time with a mill, the stage line, a general store, a blacksmith and
postmaster, a medical doctor, Masonic hall and Methodist church, it is difficult
to imagine how progress ultimately crippled the area and made it a ghost
town. In 1881, the stage line was
discontinued as train travel replaced it, and the railroad tracks bypassed
Williamsburg. Residents and businesses
moved, most to nearby Lakewood, leaving their former town to waste away.
Williamsburg was
located on the south side of Williamsburg Hill which still stands as the
highest point in the area at over 800 feet.
Some speculate the hill was formed due to glaciers; others seem to think
it to be an Indian mound. There is
really no definitive answer to its existence.
But resting at the top of Williamsburg Hill is Ridge Cemetery, still
accessible today. And there was the
basis of my story.
I traveled to
Ridge Cemetery twice (in 2014 and 2016).
It isn’t a place that one simply discovers on an afternoon drive. It is
a pre-planned destination; its isolation is assurance of this. It also isn’t a place a person should travel
to alone. As there is much folklore but
little history that I could find about the cemetery, I assume it originated
around the time that the village of Williamsburg did. The dates on many of the tombstones verify
this, but there are recent burials there as well. It is an old cemetery, yet a currently used
one; it is serene and peaceful, while strange and a little unnerving; it’s
beautiful, yet rugged; maintained but weathered. And yes, it is somewhat creepy.
The cast of
characters in this story are fictional, with the exception of J.P. Dunaway,
J.W. Torbutt, Dr. Thomas Fritts, and Orville Robertson. Their occupations in my book are true to
their history. What is a little sketchy
about them might be the location of where they settled. I was fully into writing when I discovered a
first-person historical account by a Dunaway descendant indicating the family had
lived in Findlay, Illinois, not Williamsburg.
Because I was too far into the story to change anything, I took
liberties. Documented history about the
area wasn’t easy to find, but plenty of folklore existed, so much of what I
wrote is based on this. And most of the
folklore indicates these four figures and their families were part of
Williamsburg Hill, at least at some point during the town’s reign. It was important, perhaps out of obligation,
to briefly mention the town of Findlay at the end though, which I did. I also interchanged Williamsburg and
Williamsburg Hill within the story, because it seemed to me that people living
there would’ve done this as a way of generally referring to their home.
Finally, there is
nothing left of Williamsburg. Ridge
Cemetery is not private, but open to anyone who wishes to visit as long as it’s
done during the daylight hours. It is a
place deserving of respect. If visiting,
observe its history, wonder about its past, and listen quietly. Perhaps you, too, will then hear the voices
and laughter dancing through the breeze just as my character, Erastus,
did.
