The art of the interview

By Rick Blechta

      

I’m currently involved in a non-fiction book project. No, I’m not writing the book, although I’m on tap to either do an introduction or a closing. The project is the biography of a little-known but highly influential guitarist who sadly died far too young. I won’t go into details here since it’s not cogent for this post, but it’s a story I’ve wanted to tell for a long time. Somehow I never found the time/energy needed to get the job done myself. Now out of the blue, a publisher in Florida has taken on the task. I got involved because I have a number of hours of interviews with those who knew the guitarist best: the people who played with him.

So I’ve dug out my cassette tapes of those interviews. They are somewhat disappointing because I didn't know then what I do now. I’d made a very fundamental mistake: I interjected myself too much. What I was doing was not a conversation. I should have given these people as much opportunity to speak as possible. My comments didn’t help the interviews along much at all. Yes, I did make some good observations, but I could have done that by myself afterwards. Too often I cut off my interviewees with my own thoughts.

Wrong, wrong, WRONG!

Now why am I bringing this up here?

It’s pretty hard to get through a crime fiction novel without needing some expert help. For instance, unless you’re actually involved in law enforcement, it’s impossible to know everything you’d need to make a police procedural real and believable.

I’m sure everyone who has written fiction has needed questions answered at one time or another. And that leads us to interviews. What I've learned along the way is that you want to get the experts you’re consulting to open up. They may go far beyond the answers to the specific questions you have. They may also give you insights you don’t expect but that can make your novel even better.

In order to do that, you need to ask your questions and then get out of the way.

I learned this key technique in Vienna during the mid-’90s doing research for a novel that became Cemetery of the Nameless. I put it that way because when I first arrived in Vienna, the novel had a very different, dare I say bland title.

During the course of my research I needed specific information on how Viennese law enforcement operated. I knew it was very different than what I was used to.

We were staying a pension west of the main part of town. Our host knew the local policemen, so off we went to the local police shop. First thing I learned is that local police work out of shops. This one had a store selling security items, locks, alarms, etc. in the front with the police offices in the back (a good detail to have in my pocket).

My biggest question was about the ranks of the various officers and how murders would be investigated. I had my trusty cassette player and recorded the whole interview. Problem was they spoke German, so our host translated my questions for the two police officers. It was impossible for me to do much talking since the language barrier added a whole layer of difficulty.

So I’d ask my questions and they’d talk. Sometimes what their answers went on for a long time when I had been expecting a sentence or two. It was obvious they were going off on tangents all over the place. I didn’t find how far until later when the conversation was translated for me. What I got a ton of extra information that could add much to the plot of my novel.

I also unexpectedly got a new title for it.

The story began with a body floating in the Danube River. Who would investigate something like that? My two police officers began talking excitedly about a backwater where floating bodies sometimes washed up. When these poor souls can't be identified, they're buried in a small cemetery nearby called the Friedhof Der Namenlosen (Cemetery of the Nameless).

Later, when I was told what they'd said, I realized my story had a new title. I could never have come up with that good — better yet, it was a real place!

I learned my lesson about interviews that day.

I wish I could go back now and redo those interviews with the musicians. Ask them questions and then get the hell out of their way. I’m sure I would have learned a lot more. Sad thing is, several of them are now no longer with us.

Next time you’re requesting inside information from someone for your books, don’t be like Blechta — well, the old Blechta — by all means ask the questions for which you need answers, but give your experts as much latitude as possible in their answers. I expect you’ll be very surprised with all the extra things you learn.
__________________________
Note: The above cover of my novel is a (highly doctored) photo I took at the Friedhof Der Namenlosen (minus the overlay of Beethoven). Pretty evocative place, isn't it?