Transforming Fear into Fiction
By Julie Carrick Dalton | September 29, 2023 |
When a beekeeper opens a hive, an intense moment of sensory magic follows. Bees rise from the hive and saturate the air with a gentle, but penetrating hum. Imagine being surrounded by a powerful Om that seems to come from inside your own head as the vibrations resonate in the tiny bones in your ears.
A warm, humid aroma of honey and beeswax fills your sinuses.
As a backyard beekeeper, I always looked forward to that Zen-like moment of calm. I approached my hives with giddiness, anxious for the contact high of being among the bees.
Several years ago, on a perfect August day, I went out to check on my hive. Something felt off. The air was too still. Ordinarily, dozens of bees would have been flying in and out of the hive, the foragers returning home loaded down with bright yellow pollen stuffed into the pollen baskets on their rear legs.
But that day, the hive was eerily quiet.
My heart rate ratcheted up as I got closer. I think my body understood before my brain did. Then I saw it. Outside the hive lay a pile of 40,000 honey bees. My bees, all of them dead.
I built that box hive with my own hands. I had studied and worked hard to care for these creatures. Thoughts raced through my mind. What had I done wrong?
It couldn’t have been Colony Collapse Disorder, a mysterious syndrome in which bees fly off and never return. My bees came home.
It couldn’t have been a parasite, a fungal, bacterial, or viral infection, because an infection would have taken time to work through the hive. My bees died in a pile. All at once. In my yard.
I soon realized the bees had been poisoned by one of my neighbors who applied a toxic lawn chemical. At first, I was furious. I had no idea who had used the lawn product so I looked at all my neighbors with suspicion. Was it YOU?
After a few days of side-eyeing everyone on my street and scrutinizing their impeccably manicured lawns, I came to realize the problem wasn’t that someone used a toxic chemical on their lawn. The problem was that these chemicals were legal and widely available. Although most other countries have outlawed these toxins, our government refuses to stand between landowners and their perfect green lawns.
As I stared at my silent hive and the pile of corpses, I wondered what was happening to the native pollinators. To the wild bees, the butterflies, wasps, and yellowjackets. Were they dying too?
What if they all died?
What if all our pollinators died?
That what-if question haunted me. What would our world look like without pollinators? What would happen to our agricultural system? Our food security? How would it impact our economy? Global politics? One-third of the food humans consume is the result of pollinators. If we lost a third of the food in a world that already struggles with food insecurity, who would claim the remaining food? Who would go hungry? How would it exacerbate the existing inequalities in the world? Would the economy survive? Would nations go to war?
These questions kept me up at night. What if? What if? What if?
As these questions buzzed around in my head, a story idea crystallized about a beekeeper and his daughter as the world’s pollinator population died off. I imagined a world in which people had to pollinate food by hand and fight for diminishing resources, for their families, for love.
In March of 2023, that novel, The Last Beekeeper, made it onto bookshelves across the country (and in Bulgaria!) I’ve received a lot of mail from readers sharing their stories about their own beekeeping experiences, their distress over the loss of butterflies in their gardens, and their fears about the absence of the fireflies they cherished as children.
When I show up at events, readers often bring me gifts of honey from their grandfather’s hive, fuzzy bee socks, wildflower seeds, bee-themed coffee mugs, beeswax candles, and lip balm. One friend even gave me the perfectly of-the-moment gift of a Beekeeper Barbie.
Like the Om of a beehive, my story resonated with people. It scared them. But it also gave them hope, because all of my what-if questions are seasoned with a dash of hope.
After publishing The Last Beekeeper, I suddenly had a platform from which I could share my fears about and my hopes for our bees. I’ve carved out a niche of speaking at universities, museums, libraries, and conferences about the importance of protecting pollinators.
I’ve met with scientists, beekeepers, artists, professors, writers, and horticulturalists. We’ve shared stories about our climate fears – and our hopes.
Because these stories matter. They are urgent.
Reading a novel is an enormous act of empathy. Readers temporarily give up their worldview to see through the eyes of someone else. They empathize. And when someone feels empathy, it changes them a little bit.
I want my readers to fall in love with bees the way I have. I want their hearts to ache when they envision a world without these dynamic, brilliant creatures. I want them to witness the miracle of the perfect geometry of a honeycomb, to listen to the hum of a hive, which is somehow tuned to the exact pitch of a G note.
Not everyone has the opportunity to open a hive and feel that powerful Om surround them and fill their skull. Few people get to smell the warm, honey-soaked wax of an active beehive. But I can share that experience with readers through story.
And if I do my job as a storyteller, maybe my readers will fall in love with bees too. Maybe they will be moved to be more careful about what they put on their lawns or where they buy food. Maybe they will lobby for stricter regulation of toxic lawn and agriculture products. And maybe, together, we can help avoid the future I wrote about in The Last Beekeeper.
Story ideas can come from anywhere. They show up in dreams, in the shower, in history books. In the sound of a dog barking or a child screaming. In the heart-stopping color of a sunset or a smell that reminds you of a lover’s perfume. In a pile of poisoned insects.
Stories are everywhere, speaking to us, begging to be written. It’s the writer’s job to recognize them and to give those what-if questions room to buzz around in our minds until they expand into something with dimension, color, and smell.
I lean into the questions that scare me because playing out worst-case scenarios in fiction makes me feel more in control of my real-life fears. I have plenty of climate anxieties, and therefore, an endless supply of what ifs.
If you are having trouble coming up with ideas for a new project, consider leaning into your own fears with this writing prompt:
Think of something that terrifies you. Something specific. Imagine playing that scenario out to its most extreme end. What if the worst possible outcome happened? Now think of one or two characters who might be affected by the situation. Make it even worse. Make it personal. Really put the screws to your characters. How would they respond? Who would rise to the challenge? Who would crumble? What is at stake for your characters? For the world? Is there a way out? Who still has hope?
All four of my novels – two published and two forthcoming – are centered around what-if questions related to my fears about our climate crisis. What are you most afraid of? Maybe that thing that keeps you up at night, that what-if question that won’t leave you alone, is the whisper of a new story idea trying to be heard.
What is your greatest fear? Have you ever written a story based on a what-if question that pestered you until you could no longer ignore it? Where do you find story ideas?
Julie Carrick Dalton is the author of THE LAST BEEKEEPER, longlisted for the Massachusetts Book Award, and WAITING FOR THE NIGHT SONG, a Most Anticipated book by CNN, Newsweek, USA Today, Parade, and Buzzfeed, and an Amazon Editor’s Pick for Best Books of the Month. As a journalist, Julie has published more than a thousand articles in publications including The Boston Globe, BusinessWeek, The Hollywood Reporter, and the Chicago Review of Books. A Tin House and Bread Loaf alum, and graduate of GrubStreet’s Novel Incubator, Julie holds a Master’s in Creative Writing and is currently on the teaching faculty of Drexel University’s MFA program. She also teaches Climate Fiction to undergrads at Tufts University. Julie is a frequent speaker and workshop leader on the topic of Fiction in the Age of Climate Crisis at universities, libraries, museums, and conferences nationally and internationally. Mom to four kids and two dogs, Julie is an avid skier, kayaker, open-water swimmer, gardener, and wannabe herbalist. Her third novel, THE FOREST BECOMES HER, is forthcoming from St. Martin’s Press. You can connect with her on Instagram @juliecdalton, or at juliecarrickdalton.com.
So sorry about your precious bees. Did you get some more? How are they doing?
Thank you, Julia. It was heartbreaking. I moved last year and have been trying something new. I dug up a lot of lawn and planted an extensive pollinator garden and a meadow. I intentionally planted native plants that support my native pollinators. The wild apple trees at the edge of my woods produced four times as many apples this year. I’m pretty sure it is because of the increase in pollinators that hang out in my garden. To answer your question, I don’t have a managed hive right now, but I still think of myself as a beekeeper, but for now, I’m focusing on wild bees. Thanks for reading!
Julie
“What if the worst possible outcome happened?” The perfect question (for storytellers). Been asking it (of writers) for years. So happy (as agent) to see a global disaster come about (in your novel). I will enjoy (reading it)!
Thanks and congrats on starting with a small “what-if” and turning it into a (I have no doubt) huge success!
Thanks, Don. I’m really proud of this book. I learned a lot about the importance of asking my characters the big, hard questions from YOU. I’m looking forward to seeing you soon in Salem.
Julie
Your story is such a wonderful gift of inspiration! You not only allowed, but followed your passion into your fiction and the result is a book that creates awareness plus draws your like-minded community to you. I’m in awe. And I’m inspired.
I tend to avoid the fears, instead I start with the what-ifs to get to the best thing that can happen (romance-leaning) or the most curious, interesting characters and explore how they interact. It takes a long time to figure out their fears, but then of course they usually reflect my own. I’m going to try your approach, starting with my own fears for the next one, because that’s always what it comes down to in the end.
The fears I ended up dealing with in my last book were a parent’s fear of losing a child and a beach lover’s fear of a beloved and delicately balanced ecosystem of a beach being plowed over for development.
Thanks so much for your lesson today. I’m going to go try to apply it to my WIP.
Thank you, Ada! I hope this prompt works for you. There are so many What If questions we can ask our characters. And you are correct, they can go in many directions. Best of luck with your writing!
Julie
Wonderful article. Most of my ideas come from dreams, my life and one came from a short story a group of writers decided they’d publish. When I went over the word count, I realized i had a book on my hands.
Hi Cynthia! I love that :”When I went over the word count, I realized i had a book on my hands.” Thanks for reading. Best of luck!
Julie
Great advice! So sorry about your bees. But sharing your story and passion about them and the world that depends on them through fiction is a powerful act. I’ll have to check it out. Oh, and I detest “perfect” green lawns–rip ’em out and plant clover or vegetables or let the lawn fend for itself. The world would be a better place…
Thanks for reading my post, Cat. I agree we would all be better off with less lawn, more meadow! I recently read that there is a movement to rewild part of the National Mall in DC. How cool would that be? It could be a symbol and inspiration for others to do the same in their yards.
Julie
Congrats on your new novel, Julie, and yet sadness about your bees. In life and especially in writing we live with joy and sorrow, those human factors that leap from the page and settle in our souls. Keep on, My Friend.
Hi Beth! Thanks for reading. I’m always striving to find those moments that “settle in our souls.” I hope you are well!
julie
Congratulations on the success of The Last Beekeeper. Condolences on the loss of your friends and charges. I can imagine how you feel; I know how important they are. I write from a different place–how should it be instead of what’s the worst that could happen. Your question enabled me to realize that. Thank you. For years, Don Maas has been telling everyone that your question is the right one. Perhaps I can incorporate it; I’ll certainly try. Thank you again.
Thanks, Bob. There’s no one way to write a story, but I do think we can be guided by asking tough questions. Best of luck with your writing!
Julie
Oh Julie, how heartbreaking to lose your bees, but wow! This has given you such a great opportunity to write about the dangers of polluting our environment, with a terrific What If? premise. Truly, stories help us see. Although I have lots of What If? ideas, world-building has been difficult, esp. one that’s dystopian–I don’t enjoy being in that state so the short story is about all I can muster. The opposite–how good it could be–tends to fall flat for me because there’s never enough conflict. Congratulations on the Last Beekeeper! My husband is a keeper of bees too and we enjoy gardening and learning about regenerative/permaculture techniques.
Hi Vijaya, That’s wonderful that your husband keeps bees! I’m trying to learn more about regenerative/permaculture practices myself. Best of luck with your writing!
Julie
One of society’s greatest fears is individual: becoming disabled or chronically ill, and depending on systems and other people for everything you need.
It’s such a visceral fear that the subject is close to taboo (except for inspiration porn): people who already lost that battle (never a choice) are systematically destroyed (in less enlightened places – think Sparta, and Chinese babies exposed on hillsides or abandoned because their parents were allowed ONE child), but merely ignored and seen as parasites and refused basic accommodations in the ‘enlightened’ ones.
I’ve tackled that one: what is such a person allowed to want? And is the fear so internalized that even they can’t overcome it?
“A cat is allowed to look at a Queen, Kary.”
“But the cat is not allowed to want to BE Queen.”
Oh wow, I’m sorry about what happened to your bees. My grandfather used to keep bees, and my grandma loved butterflies, so it’s kind of been impossible not to notice the drop in numbers of those particular pollinators, though we still definitely see some around my home.
I write fantasy, mostly ones set in worlds different to our own, so my exploration of fear concepts are perhaps masked somewhat. But it definitely factors into the what ifs I explore.
I’m queer, both my gender and orientation, so perhaps it’s no surprise a lot of my stories explore being othered and villainized – by society, by the ones you love. The main what ifs a story I’ve been working on for a bit now are largely prefaced on ‘what if your very existence was one your culture deemed destructive to society?’ ‘what if the two people closest to you were the ones most convinced that the right thing to do was to destroy you?’
Great post. I must admit, when I saw the photo at the top I thought it was going to go in a completely different direction. I’m allergic to bees and a bit phobic. But I do appreciate the importance of pollinators and am sorry hear about your hive. I love the advice about thinking about the worst possible outcome and then making it personal for the characters.
The loss of your bees is heartbreaking. The loss of all our pollinators is terrifying. I’m working on an MG novel about an aspiring naturalist who lives on a barrier island. Environmental issues drive the plot.