The
following chat discussion is brought to you in part by the
support of the Texas Education Agency (http://www.tea.state.tx.us).
4empowerment: Welcome! We are so excited to present the
opportunity to chat with best-selling Texas author,
screenwriter, and journalist Stephen Harrigan. A former
staff writer and senior editor at Texas Monthly,
he has appeared in many other publications, including
The New York Times Magazine, The Atlantic Monthly,
Conde Nast Traveler, and Life. Harrigan's
sixth and best-selling novel The Gates of the Alamo
was published in 2000. Some of the shows Harrigan has
written for television include the award-winning The
Last of His Tribe for HBO, the biopic entitled
Beyond the Prairie: The True Story of Laura Ingalls
Wilder for CBS, and the Western King of Texas
for TNT (starring Patrick Stewart), which is based upon
Shakespeare's King Lear. Also, Harrigan is a scuba diver
and has woven his diving experiences into two of his
novels.
4empowerment: Have questions about how to construct a
great story? Wonder what kind of process it takes to
create an entire novel? Ask Stephen Harrigan what career
path he took to become a well-established writer.
Stephen
Harrigan: I'm very happy to be here. And I'm eager to
answer any questions you have.
Velvet:
What is the best advice you ever got for writing?
Stephen
Harrigan: Telling a story is all about conflict and
clarity, so the best advice was to make sure the main
character's motives are clear and there is a discernible
goal that he or she is after.
Lindsay:
The fictional characters of Mary Mott and Ed McGowan are
wonderfully detailed - were any of their characteristics
based on people you know? If not, how do you develop
such depth?
Stephen
Harrigan: In Edmund's case, there were a number of
botanists and natural historians who were working in
Texas around the time of the Texas revolution who were
real people. I took some of their experiences and
observations, and in a few cases their personal traits,
and worked them into the fictional entity of Edmund
McGowan. But basically, he and Mary were fictional
creations, and not consciously based on any particular
person I know. They just sort of sprung out of my
imagination somehow. I'm sure it's true with most
novelists that your characters tend to be in some way
pieces of yourself. In other words, there are 5 or 6
main characters in the book and each one, whether good
or evil, is a fragment of my own personality.
Sandy:
Since your book "Comanche Midnight," would you say there
has been an improvement in conditions for the
contemporary Commanche?
Stephen
Harrigan: I have to honest and say I don't know. That
piece in that book was written quite some time ago, and
I have since moved on to other subjects as a writer, and
haven't had time to see how the conditions for the
Comanche are now as opposed to ten years ago. I would
have to defer to someone who is an authority on how the
Comanche are today.
Simon:
Stephen, you have written a few teleplays. How difficult
is the transition to plays, and where is the focus
placed when writing a teleplay as opposed to a novel?
Stephen
Harrigan: A teleplay or screenplay is almost entirely
about action, as opposed to reflection or language or
interesting details that you might want to inform the
reader about. It's sort of breathtaking how singular the
demands of a movie are. It's difficult as a novelist or
a poet or an essayist to understand how marginal the
"writing" is in some ways. It's a difficult thing to get
used to, that a movie is not about writing; it's about
action, about imagining scenes and the order in which
they take place, far more than it is about writing
dialogue or scene description.
Rio
Grande College: What do you believe the most authentic
Alamo movie that has been made?
Stephen
Harrigan: This is a fascinating question, since I am a
scholar of Alamo movies! All Alamo movies, by their very
nature, are terrible. But the one that has so far
escaped the curse is the IMAX movie that is shown in the
River Center Mall, called "Alamo - The Price of
Freedom." It's only 40 minutes long, and I think is in a
separate category from the other Alamo movies because
it's not intended for a vast public, but just for the
people who visit the Alamo. But I think it's the most
historically accurate. It's the only one in which the
final battle takes place, as it did historically, in
nightfall rather than broad daylight. And it makes a
fair-minded attempt to tell the story, to some degree,
from both sides. Of all the other dreadful Alamo movies,
my favorite is "The Last Command" for reasons I can't
quite explain. Certainly the best-known most
historically inaccurate Alamo movie is John Wayne's "The
Alamo," which is wrong in almost every detail.
Raven:
What is a typical working day for you? Are you
structured in the time you allot to writing?
Stephen
Harrigan: Yes, I'm structured in the time I allot to
writing in that I give over the entire day to writing or
working on projects. But every day tends to be
different, because I'm typically working on more than
one project at once. Usually, I'm always working on a
novel, and that tends to be the constant background
against which I do everything else. So a "typical" day
would be working on a screenplay during the morning,
say; researching another screenplay for the future for a
couple of hours in the afternoon; and writing on my
novel for 2-3 hours every day, either in the late
afternoon or at night.
Sharpsberg: Do you always know the ending of your book,
or are you sometimes surprised as to the outcome?
Stephen
Harrigan: It's important for me to have a vague and at
times very vague idea of the ending of the book. I need
to know, to some degree, where I'm headed, but I don't
want to know so specifically that I foreclose the
possibility of surprising myself along the way. So for
me, it's a kind of balancing act between keeping myself
ignorant of what's going to happen, and knowing there is
a sort of secure point I'm trying to reach.
Cat:
Stephen, your book "Water and Light" was of your
experiences diving the Grand Turk Islands - was this
location chosen for any particular reason?
Stephen
Harrigan: Yes, it was chosen because it was the only
location I could afford. I had the offer of a free place
to stay, and I had a relatively small advance on the
book and needed to make the money stretch as long as
possible. I was there for about two months, diving every
day. It turned out that Grand Turk was an inspired
choice, because there was not much happening above the
surface, so I could focus almost all my attention on
what was going on underwater.
Sam: Can
you remember your first dive? What was it that drew you
to this pastime and would you say that it was the first
dive that had you hooked?
Stephen
Harrigan: I remember very well my first dive. It was in
a YMCA swimming pool! And it did have me hooked. There
was something amazing to me about being and remaining
underwater, even in a place where there was almost
literally nothing to see except the bottom of the pool,
and other people's flailing limbs. My first real dive
was in Cozumel, Mexico, and it was the first time I had
ever seen clear water in my life and I was completely
overwhelmed by the notion that there was an entire world
that was visible, with all sorts of strange and unreal
properties.
Roma
love: When writing your books, do you sketch out the
plot and then fill in the detail, or do you just develop
characters and then let the story just unfold while
writing it?
Stephen
Harrigan: I tend to do both. As I said before in an
earlier question, I have a sketchy understanding of the
course of the book, and then it becomes up to the
characters to take me through these events. As they
become clearer to me--and they only become clearer
thought writing--they tend to predict or determine what
the book is about and where it's headed. It's important
to allow yourself to be surprised by unexpected turns
that your characters may take. It's very common for me
to introduce a minor character that I haven't thought
about much who becomes a powerful driving force in the
novel.
Greg E:
What/who were some of your favorite books/authors when
you were young?
Stephen
Harrigan: When I was a kid, I read a lot of Hardy Boys
books. In high school, when I was trying to be a little
more discriminating, I tended to read a lot of
historical fiction, especially Kenneth Roberts who wrote
"The Northwest Passage." Later, when I really started
taking literature seriously, my favorite writers were
Herman Melville (I think "Moby Dick" is one of, if not
the greatest novel ever), Hemingway, Flaubert, Willa
Cather, and a number of recent novelists like Wallace
Stegner and my most recent favorite is Patrick O'Brian.
I've read all 20 of his Aubrey/Maturin novels.
Wendy: If
you were not writing, what would you like to be doing?
Stephen
Harrigan: I can think of a number of things I'd like to
be doing, but only in the context of wanting to write
about them. Archaeology, a trial attorney
sometimes...but these things interest me because they're
such fascinating things to write about, but I don't seem
to be able to think about anything without that echo of
writing about them. So I guess, in answer to your
question, I'd be at a loss if I weren't writing. Diving
fascinates me, I love diving and hiking and going to
movies. There are many things I'd be thrilled to do
pretty much all day long. But I think it's probably true
of writers and actors, etc. that the thrill resides in
being able to communicate about it and without the
communication, these things would not be as interesting.
Dandy:
What was the first teleplay you wrote? Are we to see
more teleplays in the future?
Stephen
Harrigan: The first television movie I ever wrote was
called "The Last of his Tribe." It was the true story of
Ishi, the last "wild" Indian in North America. It was
produced by HBO in 1992 and starred Jon Voight and
Graham Greene. Since then, I've written over a dozen
television movies and had them produced. Two will be
shown this year. One is a sequel to an earlier movie
about Laura Ingalls Wilder that CBS aired a year ago,
and the other is a movie for TNT starring Patrick
Stewart and Marcia Gay Harden called "King of Texas."
It's a Western retelling of Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
and it will be shown sometime in 2002.
Dembo:
"The Gates of the Alamo" was obviously well researched.
How long did the research take for this book?
Stephen
Harrigan: It took me 8 years to research and write the
book. It was a long time! But I spent 2 years
researching before I started writing, and I never
stopped researching as I wrote; not just about what
happened at the Alamo, which is perpetually in dispute
and will never be fully solved, but it was also
important to convey a sense of the time in which these
events took place. To do that, you have to know all
kinds of weird stuff, such as when somebody puts their
hands in their pockets, where are the pockets? Are the
pockets in their pants? In their waistcoats? Are pants
even called pants, or are they called pantaloons? You
have to search for period expressions, and understand
the entire social context of the time. You're always
looking for little nuggets of historical detail that are
not always easy to come across.
Soso: 8
years to research! How do you keep the enthusiasm going?
Stephen
Harrigan: That wasn't a problem, because the subject was
an obsession. Ever since I was a little kid, I'd been
fascinated by the Alamo, and I knew since the age of 14
that I wanted to write a novel about it. The deeper into
the subject I got, the more fascinated I became. And for
me, that's true with any novel I undertake. If I start
getting bored with it after 8 years, it's probably not
something I should have been writing about in the first
place!
Mr.
Peabody: Do you ever get writer's block? If so, how do
you deal with it?
Stephen
Harrigan: Writer's block is caused by not having enough
information about your subject, I think. It's not
because you're afraid to write, or because you've lost
your gift; it's because you don't know the people you're
writing about, you've lost focus on who they are, you've
written yourself out of your comfort zone and you're
beyond the range of what you understand. For me, the
cure for writer's block has always been research. If the
world I'm writing about starts to feel static, it's
because I'm not fully engaged in it, I've slacked off.
The only way to get cranking again for me is to learn
more about the people and the world I'm writing about;
to be active rather than passive. My own personal
understanding of writer's block is that it's kin to
depression, and I think depression is a passive
condition, a deflated condition. The only way out of it
is activity and forward movement. So writing is the only
cure for writer's block, and if you can't bring yourself
to fully engage with the writing itself, go out and
interview people. If you have a scene in a factory, go
out and see the factory and talk to people who work
there. Make yourself work toward the goal of finishing
the book in whatever form you can.
Rosenator:
Who or what inspires you as a writer today?
Stephen
Harrigan: I honestly don't know what inspires me.
Inspiration, to some degree, comes from repetition. I've
been writing long enough that I have a certain
professional pride in what I do and an audience that
expects a certain standard. It's holding myself to that
standard, and just wanting to be active that keeps me
doing it. It's like training for an athletic event or
going to the gym every day--you start to crave it
because your body and your mind are used to it. It's
when you fall out of the patterns that you become
vulnerable to things like writer's block.
Stephen
Harrigan: As for who inspires me, I'm not sure there's a
specific answer to that. I think creative endeavor
requires you to inspire yourself. There are certainly
inspirational people and stories out there, and yet I
think it's a mistake to try to specifically emulate
them. Sometimes real stories inspire me, as does reading
about real people. But as a writer, it all rests on your
shoulders--you're the one who has to get up in the
morning and write. I don't believe in anything like a
"Muse." As you do the work of filling a computer screen
each day, you discover the part of yourself that can be
has created a muse. You discover the clarity that only
comes from hacking your way through a disorienting
jungle of words.
Jad: Have
you always lived in Texas and what do you think are the
greatest selling points for the State?
Stephen
Harrigan: I was born in Oklahoma, but have lived in
Texas since I was 5. What's great about Texas, and what
can be obnoxious about Texas is that it has a powerful
sense of its own history and identity. This can grate on
people from other parts of the country, but it provides
a very strong sense of belonging to people who have
lived here most or all of their lives.
Sweloquent: Agents...love em? Hate em?
Stephen
Harrigan: I love my agent, which is fortunate because I
think agents can be a problem. I have one of the great
agents of all time. Agents are, in my experience, a
necessary part of doing business with the New York
publishing world. It's set up that way. I also have a
movie agent that I'm very fond of, who I've been with
for many years. There, agents are even more necessary. I
think agents are often caricatured as soulless,
bottom-line opportunists. But in my happy experience,
they are comrades in the endeavor of trying to formulate
what it is you want to say as a writer.
Mackie:
Where is it best to start researching for historical
facts?
Stephen
Harrigan: I always start with a kind of biography or
narrative history of the time I'm researching. Then I go
directly to the bibliography of the book, to look for
the more specific sources that can tell you in greater
detail the things you need to know. I've found it's very
important not to trust any biography or history on its
face because the sources are often contradictory or
spurious. So it's necessary to double check the authors
and their interpretations.
Stephen
Harrigan: For me, one of the most valuable tools as a
researcher is children's books, because if you're
researching the life of Ancient Rome, for instance,
there are picture books that tell you much of what you
want to know--what people's houses looked like, what
they wore, what they ate--and those are the very things
it's often difficult to find in a vast sweeping history.
Of course you have to check everything, but these
pictures are a starting point. It's always good to read
Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," but if
you want to find out how people held up their togas, you
won't find it. You're better off with a sixth-grade
level picture book.
Stephen
Harrigan: It's also important to go back to the primary
sources, and to make your own decisions about what
they're saying and how reliable they are. In the case of
writing about the Alamo, this was crucial since there's
such a wide variance in opinion about whether the
sources are even legitimate. One of the major historical
documents about the Alamo that historians have used for
years is subject to an open debate about whether it's a
forgery. So you have a sense of perspective and
experience to be able to make those decisions for
yourself.
Albatross: How did you get to where you are now, as a
successful writer?
Stephen
Harrigan: I began writing with no real expectation of
writing as a career because I didn't know that was even
possible. I think sometimes it's a mistake for people to
expect too much that way. I've always wanted, more than
anything else, to be a novelist, until I realized it was
not possible to make the kind of living I needed to make
and support a family on the erratic and puny income of a
novelist. So I began my career as a yard man, mowing
lawns. I was a yard man who wrote poetry in his spare
time, then I became a yard man who wrote magazine
articles in his spare time. Eventually I was making
enough writing freelance magazine articles that I could
give up mowing yards. But as a magazine writer and later
as a movie writer, I was frustrated that I couldn't
concentrate full time on writing fiction, which is what
I wanted to do. One of the lessons of being 52 years old
is that all the things you resented doing in your life
turn out to be the things you most needed to do to get
where you are! So I think it's a mistake for someone to
think of a writing career as having a clear trajectory,
of a specific goal-oriented stratagem. Authors tend to
be successful mostly by virtue of a combination of
factors, the most important of which is how badly they
want to do it, and how the pursuit of that goal sort of
underlies almost every other aspect of their lives.
Steffi:
What would you like to be doing 5 years from now?
Stephen
Harrigan: I'd be very happy to be doing what I'm doing
now. It feels right to me to always be working on a
novel, and to always be working on a screenplay of one
sort of another. I'd like to be more focused on fiction
than screenwriting but I think it's good for me to work
in different genres because it keeps me fresh and alert
and aware that in fiction, for instance, a certain
amount of narrative velocity is not bad thing. That is a
lesson I learned in years of writing screenplays.
Matt: Any
words of encouragement for a budding journalist? How to
get my foot in the door and how to make my work stand
out?
Stephen
Harrigan: Get your foot in the door by not waiting for
somebody to give you an opportunity, but taking the
initiative and going out and writing things--short
magazine or newspaper pieces, even if you don't have an
assignment to do it. Go interview people, see things,
write them up, and send them to your local alternative
newspaper or whatever you have in your town that's most
receptive to freelance writers. It's important not to be
discouraged by editors and your own ineptitude and
inexperience, because what makes a journalist "happen"
is curiosity and an active engagement with the outside
world, rather than with your inside thoughts, and the
craft of telling a story. All of this can be, to some
extent, learned or at least refined. I would tell a
budding journalist to be prepared for not just months,
but years of abject frustration. A period during which
the only person who believes in yourself is you. It's
very, very hard to get the attention of the people whose
attention you want. Nobody bestows anything on you,
nobody comes after you until they see that you are
somebody they want to be in business with. So you have
to create yourself as a commodity, and that is something
that is a result of just not giving up.
Robbie:
Do you have another book in the pipeline? Can you share
it with us?
Stephen
Harrigan: Yes, I'm working on a novel set in the space
program about the lives of astronauts and people who
work at NASA. The working title is "NASA Road One" which
is the name of the street in Clear Lake City, TX that is
NASA's address.
4empowerment: Stephen, sadly our time is up this
morning. You've been a terrific guest. Any final
comments before we close for the day?
Stephen
Harrigan: Only that it's been very satisfying to answer
such interesting questions. I wish everyone out there
who has an interest in being a writer the best of luck.
It's all about perseverance.
4empowerment: Thank you for joining this fascinating
discussion! Now that Stephen Harrigan has revealed some
of the mysteries of writing, don't forget to watch the
4empowerment website
for new info on topics ranging from film to water
sampling to literature and more!
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ARTS IN AMERICA; The Alamo Remembered but Transformed
By JIM YARDLEY (NYT)
SAN ANTONIO -- There is a story, perhaps apocryphal, that
late one evening a few years ago a young father brought
his baby son to the Alamo. With spotlights bathing the
limestone mission in a yellow glow, the father supposedly
lifted the newborn above his head, oblivious to the
workings of the modern city, as if making an offering at
an ancient altar.
This, it might be said, was a real Texas baptism.
Stephen Harrigan, who heard the story while researching
his new historical novel, ''The Gates of the Alamo,''
passes it along not necessarily as fact but as a reminder
of the enduring claim made by the Alamo on the imagination
and identity of Texas. Even today grade school students
across the state are taught the Alamo's legend of doomed
sacrifice and valor, as a sort of spiritual bedrock upon
which Texas was born and built.
Mr. Harrigan, now 51, was once one of those students. He
visited the Alamo as a 7-year-old on a family trip and
left transformed. When he decided as a teenager to become
a novelist, he concluded that he would write about the
Alamo. Three decades intervened before he managed to take
up the subject, but much to his surprise he found it
largely unplowed, at least in fiction.
''Everybody thinks it's hackneyed,'' Mr. Harrigan said
recently over lunch at the Menger Hotel, a block from the
Alamo. ''When I would tell people I was writing a book
about the Alamo, they would tend to roll their eyes:
Hasn't that story been done to death? But, in fact, as I
started doing the research I realized, no, it hasn't. The
mythological story is very, very familiar, but the real
story is not.''
Of course, the real story remains a subject of debate. The
central tenets, at least as told on the Texas side, is
that the vastly outmanned defenders, including William
Barret Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, refused to
surrender although no help was coming, and fought to the
death against Santa Anna and his Mexican Army. When Santa
Anna was later defeated in the Battle of San Jacinto, thus
liberating Texas from Mexico, the victorious Texas army
famously shouted, ''Remember the Alamo!'' Recently
academics and Alamo enthusiasts convened at the University
of Texas in Austin to consider the authenticity of the
diary of Jose Enrique de la Pena, a Mexican soldier who
took part in the Alamo assault. The diary includes a small
passage that describes the capture and subsequent
execution of Crockett. That Crockett would have
surrendered suggests that perhaps the defenders were not
quite so eager to die, and many ''Alamoheads'' claim the
diary is a fake. But if academics could not determine its
truthfulness, they did confirm its authenticity.
This tension between mythology and revisionism meant that
Mr. Harrigan's novel would require as much historical
research as imagination. Determined to provide a ''cold
splash of reality,'' he repeatedly interviewed experts:
Stephen L. Hardin, the historian, and Thomas Ricks
Lindleyan, an independent scholar. He pored over old
medical journals, military manuals and records of the
Mexican government. From diaries he picked up period
expressions like ''Well, if that don't take the
dilapidated linen!''
Ultimately, and not surprisingly, he discovered that many
of the old myths he had learned as a child were not true.
Perhaps the most famous Alamo story is of Travis gathering
his men inside the besieged garrison, informing them that
reinforcements were not coming and drawing a line in the
sand with his sword and challenging his men to cross it
and fight to the death for freedom. It is a stirring
anecdote but one considered a fabrication by many modern
Alamo scholars.
''That moment to me is the linchpin of the Alamo myth,''
he said. ''Once that is gone and once that idea of
deliberate self-sacrifice is gone, the Alamo story becomes
a human story and not a mythological one. You realize
these guys were not intent on dying, they were intent on
living.''
One problem in plotting a novel around the real events of
the Alamo is that the end is something of downer: everyone
dies. To navigate this, Mr. Harrigan framed his book
around fictional characters, Texan and Mexican, tossed in
a love story and took pains not to tread too fearfully
around the historical icons. He paints Bowie as something
of a charming swindler and Travis as a foolish but
magnetic leader enthralled with his presumed destiny. He
admits to being charmed by the homespun Crockett.
''I was surprised in my revisionist heart how much I like
Crockett,'' he said. ''What a good guy he seems to have
been.''
Bruce Winders, the resident historian and curator of the
Alamo, credits Mr. Harrigan with creating a vivid story
but one based on credible historical assumptions he
described as ''extremely current.'' Recent new research
suggests that reinforcements were en route to the Alamo,
Mr. Winders said, and that Travis, contrary to popular
interpretation, knew it.
''There is much more willingness to accept new
interpretations when it's based on solid research,'' he
said.
Mr. Harrigan, who has written two other novels, a
nonfiction book about scuba diving and two collections of
essays, has enjoyed the success of his latest book. The
novelreached The New York Times hardback fiction
bestseller list for one week in April and has enjoyed
almost universally glowing reviews. His publisher, Knopf,
sent him on a national 11-city tour, which ended this
month.
''I draw the line at wearing a coonskin cap,'' he said
with a smile. ''You wouldn't believe how many people have
asked me to do that. And on me, a coonskin cap looks like
a toupee.''
Born in Oklahoma City, Mr. Harrigan grew up in Corpus
Christi on the Texas coast, attended the University of
Texas in Austin and published his first novel,
''Aransas,'' about a dolphin trainer. In the early 1980's
he joined the staff of Texas Monthly, the magazine that
has nurtured many of the best Texas writers, and for a
decade the job allowed him to explore Texas.
With three daughters and a wife to support, Mr. Harrigan
began writing screenplays after leaving Texas Monthly in
1991. Now he is part of a small but successful weekly
breakfast club of Austin screenwriters who include Bill
Broyles, whose credits include ''Apollo 13,'' and Lawrence
Wright, the novelist, screenwriter and writer for The New
Yorker. Mr. Harrigan's credits range widely, from the
critically acclaimed television drama ''Beyond the
Prairie: The True Story of Laura Ingalls Wilder,''
broadcast in January, to far less acclaimed screenplays
like the recent ''John Denver Story.''
He began ''The Gates of the Alamo'' eight years ago,
working weekends, nights and mornings around his ''day
job'' of writing screenplays. When he finally finished the
book, he struggled with a title, dismissing ''Remember the
Alamo!,'' out of fear that it would evoke a B-movie
cheesiness. One day as he drove down the highway groping
with different titles, he looked up and saw a sign that
read, ''Alamo Title Co.'' He considered it but thought
otherwise.
Mr. Harrigan's ultimate target in writing about the Alamo
was Texas itself and ''the death grip'' its history holds
on its inhabitants. Even today, the Alamo remains the most
visited historical site in the state, with more than three
million visitors every year. And Mr. Harrigan believes
that even if the real story of the Alamo is something less
than the legend, it is no less powerful, or to him,
inspiring.
''The Alamo as an icon speaks to an ideal that I think is
very legitimate and very alive and transcends all sorts of
cultural and ethnic boundaries,'' he said. ''The ideal is
that there is something worth dying for, there is
something you would willingly give your life for. Whether
that's the liberation of Texas from Mexico, or the
stealing of Texas from Mexico, or any other enterprise is
kind of irrelevant. What matters is that people have faith
in that concept. That's why people remember the Alamo,
because that ideal is worth remembering.''
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2002 The New York Times
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INTERVIEW
Stephen Harrigan

Interview conducted by Dr. Stephen L.
Hardin
ADP: The Gates of the Alamo
is a departure from your earlier books. What drew you to
the story?
Harrigan: The Alamo has
been a magnet for me all my life. I first saw it when I
was seven, not long after seeing the Fess Parker movie,
and I don't think I've ever fully recovered from the
impact. I remember the sense I had standing in the Alamo
church and feeling that I was in a completely different
realm. It was the first time I ever felt the presence of
history.
ADP: You dedicated the
book to the memory of James E. McLaughlin, 1918-1948. Who
was he?
Harrigan: He was my father, a
World War II fighter pilot who died in an airplane crash a
few months before I was born. I never knew him, but
dedicating the book to him felt right to me, since the
novel itself is an attempt to come to terms with an
ungraspable past.
ADP: The dust jacket
notes describe your characters as "vibrant" and
"unexpected." They're certainly that. I can't think of
another writer who would cast a botanist as a major
protagonist. Did you attempt to avoid the stereotypes and
clichés common to the genre?
Harrigan: I desperately wanted
to avoid the cliches, to jettison the myths of the Alamo
and try to present an imagined but credible reality in
their place. And as my protagonist, I wanted somebody who
was active and engaged in an important pursuit but who was
fundamentally an agnostic when it came to the war itself.
One of the myths of the Alamo and the Texas revolution is
that all these colonists rose up as one against the
tyranny of Santa Anna, but as anyone knows who has studied
the period with any care there was considerable
divisiveness and ambivalence. It made sense to me to have
a character who could reflect the complexity of the
situation, and whose heroism was of a different sort than
that usually associated with the Alamo story.
ADP: Your earlier books—Jacob's
Well, A Natural State, Water and Light: A
Diver's Journey to a Coral Reef—reflect your interest
in the natural world. To what degree did your own
proclivities influence the Edmund McGowan character?
Harrigan: The novels that excite
me the most present a living, breathing world. To write
about Texas in 1836 and not write about its most obvious
feature—the landscape—would have been peculiar. I wanted
readers to have a sense of being steeped in that
landscape, to see it sharply and in detail. And what
better eyes to see Texas through than those of a man
driven to notice everything?
ADP: The book leaves at least
one question unanswered. In the world you created what
became of McGowan's manuscript of Flora Texana?
Harrigan: In my mind, the
Flora Texana is still moldering in some forgotten
Mexican archive, waiting to be rescued from obscurity.
ADP: I don't want to give too
much away for those who have not read the book. Suffice it
to say that McGowan has some "issues" that relate to his
sexuality. How did his conflicted sexuality drive the
character's development? Why did you opt to portray him as
a person so at odds with his sexuality?
Harrigan: Characters aren't
interesting to me unless they have some internal conflict.
I wanted Edmund in some way to be a hostage to his own
pride, and in the 19th century, in particular,
pride could take people off in peculiar directions. We
forget, in the sloppy liberation of our own time, what a
powerful and unpredictable force unreleased sexuality can
be. We forget that there were once people—even
adventurous, heroic people—for whom this basic human urge
was deeply frightening. Or so I speculate. The fact that I
grew up Catholic and spent a lot of time among presumably
celibate priests probably helped to plant this notion.
ADP: Readers will enjoy the
skillful way you weave your fictional story into the
documented history in a way that is virtually seamless.
What historical sources did you find the most useful?
Harrigan: Well, your book, for
one. Texian Iliad is a very elegant summary of the
revolution, and Gary Zaboly's illustrations were a
revelation the first time I saw them. But after reading
the big sweeping histories, I found myself going back time
and again to the same primary sources—Travis's letters
from the Alamo, Almonte's diary, and then more recently
Ramirez y Sesma's battle report. The books that assembled
all of these accounts in one place, like Bill Groneman's
Eyewitness to the Alamo and Alan Huffines's
Blood of Noble Men were especially useful. But by far
the most important research activity was just sitting
around with you and all my other historian friends and
arguing or theorizing about various aspects of the Alamo
story.
ADP: You made a pact with fellow
novelists Elizabeth Crook and Jeff Long that relates to
the actions of the characters in each of your three books.
Could you tell our readers how that concept developed?
Harrigan: A little over ten
years ago, just as Elizabeth and Jeff and I were getting
to know each other, we discovered that we were each
writing a historical novel about the Texas Revolution.
Theoretically, we weren't in direct competition. Elizabeth
was writing the novel that would become Promised Lands,
which tells the story primarily of the Goliad Massacre.
Jeff was doing San Jacinto in Empire of Bones, and
I was taking on the Alamo. Still, we all felt a little
nervous—me most of all, because their books were almost
finished and mine was not even begun. So I suggested that,
instead of thinking of ourselves as competitors, we should
think of ourselves as collaborators. The net result of
that is that fictional characters from each of our novels
wander through the pages of the others. So, for instance,
Terrell Mott—from my book—shows up at a campfire with Sam
Houston in Empire of Bones, and Hugh Kenner, the
doctor from Promised Lands, makes a cameo
appearance in The Gates of the Alamo.
ADP: In the "Author's Note" you
make the following observation: "The debate over the
authenticity of [the de la Peña] manuscript is abstruse
and sometimes peculiarly heated—it matters to people how
Davy Crockett died—but in my own relatively dispassionate
assessment I have come to the conclusion that de la Peña,
forgery or not, is a document of dubious historical
veracity." As you know, Alamo de Parras has followed this
debate in some detail. Do you care to expand on the above
comments?
Harrigan: There are two separate
questions about the de la Peña manuscript: 1) is it
authentic? and 2) is it reliable? On the first point, I
prefer to stand back and let Jim Crisp and Bill Groneman
and Tom Lindley slug it out, because I know I'll never
have the command of the material that they do. On the
issue of its reliability, I just feel that it's
squirrelly. If José Enrique de la Peña was its true
author, it's still obviously something of a clip job, and
when it comes to Crockett's death scene, for example, it
just has the ring of hearsay to me. I understand the
exasperation that some historians feel over the endless
barrage of suspicion aimed at this document, but I also
feel that until recently de la Peña has never really been
looked at critically at all. So I tried to keep a
judicious distance from it, though I'm very interested in
the ongoing debate.
ADP: You have a wonderfully
detailed scene in chapter three wherein Jim Bowie wrestles
an alligator. I'm almost afraid to ask, but how did you
become such an expert on this arcane pursuit?
Harrigan: This is a direct
result of the wonder of the Internet. I went onto the pets
forum of America Online and posted a message under
"Reptiles" asking for information about how to wrestle an
alligator. In less than a day I had five or six messages,
one of which was three single-spaced pages specifying, in
minute detail, how to wrestle an alligator.
ADP: Those of us who write books
never know what the press people are going to put on the
dust jacket. The dust jacket around Gates, for
example, makes the following claim: "[F]or the first time
the story is told not just from the perspective of the
American defenders but from that of the Mexican attackers
as well." That person was clearly ignorant of John R.
Knagg's The Bugles Are Silent: A Novel of the Texas
Revolution (1977) that also showcased several Mexican
characters that told their side of the story. Had you read
Knagg's earlier novel before you began writing Gates?
Harrigan: Oops. I should have
caught that. Yes, of course I've read John's novel, and
admire it. I suppose the reason the comment slipped by is
that The Bugles are Silent seems to me not to be primarily
an "Alamo" novel so much as it is a panoramic novel of the
Texas Revolution. The same is true of J.Y. Bryan's Come
to the Bower, which also features Mexican characters.
And of course Elizabeth Crook's Promised Lands is
prominently peopled with Tejanos.
ADP: Your depiction of the Alamo
assault is the best in print. Since it's better than the
one in Texian Iliad, it gives me no special
pleasure to concede that. It is also realistic in terms of
the damage done to the human body on nineteenth-century
battlefields. Do you fear that some readers will be
repelled by all the blood and guts—not to mention the
urine and excrement? This is not the way Alamo heroes die
in the movies!
Harrigan: Writing these battle
scenes was slightly troubling to me, because I became
aware for the first time of what the phrase "pornography
of violence" means. But you can't tell the truth about
combat without beginning to feel, in some way, that you've
gone too far. On the other hand, there is also a certain
obscenity in the sanitized, glorified version. I guess
what I hope is that readers will realize I have tried to
find an honorable middle ground.
ADP: You have a reputation for
not only writing well, but also writing quickly. I know
that you worked on Gates for years. Why did
this one take so long?
Harrigan: A book this long, and
this detailed, requires a tremendous amount of research. I
read for about two years before I felt I knew enough to
even begin writing it. And then I had to work on the novel
in and around other projects. Typically, I was working on
at least one screenplay, not to mention various articles,
at the same time I was trying to write the novel.
ADP: How long have you been a
professional writer? How did you make your start in the
business?
Harrigan: I sold my first
magazine article in 1973, when I was mowing yards for a
living, and have been a professional writer ever since. I
started out as a free-lance magazine writer and over the
years have gradually morphed into a novelist and
screenwriter. It hasn't always been easy, but I feel I've
been very lucky to make a living doing something that
brings me so much pleasure.
ADP: You have had a long
relationship with Texas Monthly. What is your
current status with that magazine?
Harrigan: I'm now listed on the
masthead as a contributing editor, though it'd be more
accurate to call me a contributing writer. I still publish
occasional pieces in the magazine—this current issue, in
fact, has an article of mine about how to visit the
Alamo—and I have a close allegiance to the publication and
a long friendship with many of the people there. In many
ways, Texas Monthly made my career. It was an incredible
catalyst for Texas writers, and I think working for the
magazine sharpened my wits, enlarged my curiosity, and
helped me learn to write.
ADP: I've heard through the
grapevine that someone has optioned Gates for a
feature film. Do you have anything new to report on that
front?
Harrigan: Several production
companies have expressed interest, but at this point,
nothing concrete has happened. Part of the reason, I'm
sure, is that there are three or four other Alamo movies
in various stages of development. This is probably because
of all the middle-aged studio executives out there who,
like me, were transfixed by the Fess Parker movie and are
now reexamining the icons of their childhood.
ADP: How has the word processor
changed the way you write? Which system do you use?
Harrigan: I wrote this book on a
Macintosh with Microsoft Word. I now have an IMac, with a
newer version of Word, which I absolutely detest. There's
this creepy little computer creature who pops up unbidden
on the screen to constantly inquire into your business.
But even with these sorts of aggravations, computers are
an unbelievable blessing. I wrote my first two novels in
longhand, two or three successive drafts in composition
books. And though there was a certain satisfaction in
having amassed all those pages full of ink, I don't miss
the tedium a bit.
ADP: I know you do be a
remarkably disciplined writer. Describe an average writing
day.
Harrigan: As I said before, I
tend to work on more than one project at once. So a
typical writing day for me might be working on a
screenplay in the morning and a book or an article in the
afternoon. I'll often work for an hour or so at night as
well, though I try as much as possible to stick to a 9 to
5 schedule. Being a free-lance writer, however, means you
run a small business, so there is an alarming amount of
time spent on the phone, answering e-mail, raiding the
refrigerator, paying bills, and waiting longingly at the
door for the Federal Express man to bring you that magic
package whose contents will forever free you from all
financial anxiety.
ADP: The people at Alfred A.
Knopf have a hectic book tour planned for you. Can you
tell our readers how a book tour works? Which cities will
you visit?
Harrigan: I don't really know
how it works, since this is my first one. But my
impression is that I will be whisked about from one city
to the next, endlessly repeating in 50 words or less to
various interviewers what my book is about, and then
giving a talk or a reading at a bookstore or library at
night. It's supposed to be exhausting. But it's a
different kind of exhaustion than writing, and so I'm
ready for it.
ADP: Gates had a first
printing of one hundred thousand copies. Obviously, the
editors at Knopf believe that the Alamo story has an
appeal outside Texas. What is it about the Alamo battle
that engages the interest of people all over the country
and, for that matter, all over the world?
Harrigan: I think it's the
notion of deliberate self-sacrifice, the idea that there
is an ideal or a principle that is worth dying for, and
the hope that we ourselves might be capable of such a
choice if we were ever called upon to make it—that we
would "cross the line."
ADP: What is your next project?
Can our readers expect another historical fiction from the
word processor of Stephen Harrigan?
Harrigan: I've just finished a
screenplay for TNT which is a western reworking of King
Lear, set in South Texas in 1842 and culminating in a
rather historically loose version of the Battle of the
Salado. Sorry to disappoint, but I think my next book
project will be a contemporary novel. After that, however,
I might dip into history again. Writing an historical
novel is a bit of a chore, but I've never done anything
else that was quite as much fun.
February 2000
|
Stephen Harrigan
(1948- )
PAPERS 1971-ongoing
Acquisition: Donation since 1987. Donors: Stephen
Harrigan, Bill Wittliff.
Access:
Direct inquiries to Archivist, Southwestern Writers
Collection, Texas State University-San Marcos, San Marcos,
Texas, 78666-4604.
Processed by: Jennifer B. Patterson, May 1994, Amanda
Oates, 2000.
10.5
linear feet
21 boxes plus oversize
Biography
Stephen
Harrigan was born on October 5, 1948, and grew up in
Oklahoma City, Abilene and Corpus Christi. After receiving
a degree in English from The University of Texas at Austin
in 1971, Harrigan briefly attended graduate school and
worked as a yardman and as an ad writer for the University
Co-op. He contributed articles to a number of magazines,
including Rolling Stone, The Atlantic Monthly, Esquire and
The Texas Observer. He became a regular writer for
Texas Monthly archives
shortly after its inception and co-founded and edited
Lucille, a journal of poetry, which published 10 issues
between 1974 and 1978.
Harrigan
received a Dobie-Paisano fellowship in 1977, which allowed
him to complete his first novel. Aransas, published by
Knopf in 1980, tells the story of Jeff Dowling, an
alienated young man who comes to terms with himself and
the world as he trains two dolphins for a circus in Port
Aransas, Texas. The New York Times named the novel one of
the notable books of 1980, and reviewers praised its
realism and style. His second novel, Jacob's Well, also
focused on man's relationship with nature, following the
lives of three people who are drawn together to explore an
artesian well in Central Texas. The book was named one of
the best books of 1984 by The Washington Post and The
Dallas Morning News.
Harrigan's
recent books, until the publication in 2000 of Gates of
the Alamo ,have been nonfiction. As a freelance writer
and later staff writer and editor for Texas Monthly,
Harrigan displayed a talent for journalism, contributing
interviews and other investigative pieces, but he also
focused on the natural environment, writing about rivers,
Big Bend, Padre Island and other Texas landmarks. Many of
these essays were collected in Harrigan's third book, A
Natural State: Essays on Texas (1988), which was recently
republished by the University of Texas Press. His 1992
book Water and Light: A Diver's Journey to a Coral Reef
combined research on aquatic life with his own experiences
scubadiving off a coral reef in the Caribbean. The New
York Times Book Review called Water and Light "moving,
intelligent ... literary," and praised Harrigan's
"remarkable ability to discuss the metaphysical and
spiritual aspects of underwater exploration." Harrigan has
also published a book of poetry and written screenplays,
one of which, The Last of His Tribe, was broadcast on HBO.
Harrigan's
works are characterized by an intense interest in humans
and their relationship to the environment around them. He
once wrote of his interest in natural subjects: "I don't
know what nature is exactly--whether it is a category that
includes human beings or shuts them out--but for me it has
always contained that hint of eeriness, the sense that
some vital information--common knowledge to all the
universe--has been specifically withheld from me.
Sometimes, as with the snake, this secrecy has seemed
malevolent, but far more often it has been wonderfully
tantalizing. For much of my life I have been obsessed with
nature, but not in the way a naturalist would be obsessed
with it--driven to classify, to define relationships, to
comprehend the world's marvelous intricacy. I have simply
wanted to feel more fully a part of that intricacy, to see
something other than neutral scorn in the eyes of that
half-imagined snake." (A Natural State, UT Press, 1994,
intro., p. x)
Harrigan
lives in Austin with his wife Sue Ellen and three
daughters.
|
Stephen Harrigan: Re-visioning the
Alamo
Roger Gathman -- 3/20/00
"The last thing you want to read
about, in a way, is the Alamo."
Stephen Harrigan's two-story house
is located in the Terrytown section of Austin, an older
residential neighborhood of ranch houses favored by
professors and professionals. Big trees and yards lining
streets with names like Bridle Path and Cherry Lane lend
the area a pastoral charm, but it is also conveniently
close to downtown Austin and the campus of the University
of Texas. Go a little farther east and you are in danger
of drowning in a sea of undergraduates; go a little
farther west and you are in the hills that climb above
Town Lake, where the secluded houses are big and
expensive, and the yards tend to end at a cliff's edge.
It took a flurry of calls to Boulder,
Colo., where Harrigan is working on location for CBS
making a film about Laura Ingalls Wilder, for PW to
arrange this Friday morning appointment. Harrigan's first
script about the author of Little House on the Prairie was
successful enough that CBS commissioned him to write a
follow-up. Harrigan is on the road most of the week
working on the sequel, but he has time Friday and Saturday
morning to meet with us before he has to attend a writer
and p ts' benefit in Houston. These days, Harrigan is an
awfully busy man.
He's going to be even busier this
spring when he embarks on the author tour for his third
novel, The Gates of the Alamo (Knopf; Forecasts, Jan. 17).
Aransas and Jacob's Well, Harrigan's first two novels,
were published to critical acclaim, as was his nonfiction
diving book, Water and Light, but The Gates of the Alamo,
already in its second printing only a week past its early
March pub date, is poised to break new ground.
Harrigan's house is a little boxier
than its neighbors, and the yard isn't quite so lush. The
author walks PW through the house, and introduces his
wife, Sue Ellen, who makes coffee. The three of us briefly
engage in that staple of Austin discussions--the terrible
traffic--and then Harrigan leads PW to his office, a
converted backyard shed.
The books and papers that clutter the
office announce the professional writer. However, the
visitor's eye is immediately drawn to an array of
foot-high plastic dolls on top of one of the bookshelves,
representing real or folkloric figures from America's
past, all mounted on prancing plastic ponies. These are
'50s collector's items, which Harrigan has kept from his
childhood. He rather sheepishly points out Jim Bowie,
sandwiched between George Washington and Geronimo, but
denies that the doll had any influence on how he
visualized the Bowie in his novel.
What the figures do show is a
continuity between Harrigan's pre-adolescent hobbies and
obsessions and his writing interests. He claims, in fact,
that he has planned to write about the Alamo since he was
14, "because it had such an impact on me as a kid." Seeing
the actual Alamo in San Antonio was less of a catalyst
than seeing Fess Parker in the Disney three-part TV drama
about Davy Crockett, which created a nationwide phenomena
when it aired in 1955 (not to be confused with the John
Wayne-directed movie of 1960, which was widely
panned)."The thing with the cap had a galvanizing effect
upon me," he jokes.
He's only half kidding when he
elaborates: "There was a wonderful photograph in Life
Magazine of all these kids standing next to the Alamo, and
it is just a sea of coonskin caps. That movie was the Star
Wars of its time. The other, really more primal thing is
that--this being a more innocent time in the 1950s--there
had never been a movie in my experience in which the hero
dies in the end. That was a very traumatic event, and a
lot of 50, 55-year old men now are trying to come to terms
with it." After considering this statement for a second,
we both laugh.
Still, it raises a question. Can the
history that thrilled Americans in the "innocent" '50s
still engage people today? As Harrigan himself admits,
"The last thing you want to read about, in a way, is the
Alamo." The Gates of the Alamo proves that statement
false. The narrative follows a number of real and
fictitious characters as they converge bloodily in Texas
in 1835. The cast includes a virginal botanist, Edmund
McGowan; a widowed innkeeper, Mary Mott, and her son,
Terrell (who makes it out of the Alamo before it falls);
an ambitious Mexican officer, Telesforo Villaseñor; and a
slave, J . It also includes real people, like Mexican
leader Santa Anna, Crockett (portrayed as a corruptible
Southern politician, with a nice sense of the balance
between bunkum and shrewdness characteristic of the
breed), William Travis and Jim Bowie. The final third of
the book, which shows how the collision between Texas
stubbornness, greed and naivete and Santa Anna's
monomaniacal rule leads to the Alamo's fall, reads like
great war reporting, but it is the book's smaller touches
that communicate the sensibility of the time: Mary Mott's
killing of a Karakawa brave, for instance, with its
insistent gruesomeness, or Edmund McGowan's long, belated
journey to sexual maturity. Harrigan realizes that some
readers will find the spectacle of a 44-year old virgin
male ridiculous, but he feels that his character reflects
the moral climate of the time. He also d sn't see such a
scenario as impossible. "I grew up a Catholic and met a
lot of priests who seemed to be following a vow of
chastity. It isn't untrue."
An Epiphany Behind a Lawn Mower
Harrigan was born in Oklahoma. His
stepfather, who was in the oil business, moved the family
first to Abilene, then to Corpus Christi, a midsized town
on the Gulf of Mexico south of Houston. "I didn't really
discover nature until I moved to Corpus Christi," he says.
In Corpus, he began a love affair
with the ocean in particular that informs all of his
nonfiction, from his essays for Texas Monthly to Water and
Light, his book-length account of diving off Grand Turk
island, at the southern end of the Bahamas. It is also the
underlying theme of his first novel, Aransas, which is
about capturing and training dolphins. Harrigan still
possesses his 1961 copy of John Lilly's classic, Man and
Dolphin. He also recalls the thrill of seeing his first
dolphin. "I was a kid going fishing on a boat and this was
just after we moved [to Corpus Christi]. I was sitting in
the boat when all of a sudden this beast came out of the
water. I couldn't believe it. I had never heard of
dolphins. I didn't know what it was."
Harrigan attended the University of
Texas at Austin, in the '60s. His time in high school had
convinced him that he was a writer, but he didn't know
what he wanted to write. He enjoyed the rambunctiousness
of the period. "Our recreation was demonstrating," he
says. But he was not a "front-line" guy. After graduating
with an English literature degree, "I stayed here. You
have to understand that if you grow up in Texas, and you
see Austin, you get an impression at 17 or 18 like going
to Paris. It was such a sophisticated place. To an extent,
I'm a victim of my own provincialism, since it never
occurred to me to go anywhere else." Harrigan worked as a
yard man and wrote p ms (he even had a book of p ms
published, Sleepyhead, which "is a rare item now,
justifiably").
"The first magazine story I wrote I
published for $150 in Rolling Stone. I was mowing yards
one day and I thought, I bet I could write magazine
articles and make more money. And then I started doing
some pieces for the Texas Observer, which was when Molly
Ivins was editor there. Somebody saw my pieces for the
Texas Observer and told Greg Curtis, who is now the editor
at Texas Monthly, but was then the assistant editor. I
started a freelance relationship with them, and then
joined the staff around 1980 or so, and worked full time
for a long time."
"I wrote oddball stories. I've never
been much of a journalist. My curiosity tends to run
elsewhere. I've never written about politics or business.
I never even read the paper with any degree of attention
or interest. I was at a strange kind of cockeyed distance
from the magazine world. Ultimately, being a magazine
writer served me well because it got me out of the house.
It triggered my curiosity about things I would never have
looked at otherwise."
Harrigan has collected some of his
pieces in two books, Comanche Midnight and A Natural
State: Essays on Texas. His pieces do for Texas what
Joseph Mitchell's pieces did for New York: define the
essence of the place by highlighting the margins. He has
produced several pieces on Texas history, from the
Battlefield of San Jacinto to the resurvey of the Camino
Real, which was the ancient route used by Spanish
explorers on their way into Texas. He has written several
excellent essays of natural history, from a large, sad
piece about the pollution of Galveston Bay to an essay
about exploring Big Bend Park with a zoologist who has a
contract to extract parasites from roadkill. The
zoologist, who is always scanning for specimens, will
remind readers of The Alamo of Harrigan's character,
Edmund McGowan. Reading the essays, one sees how they work
as a source for Harrigan's fiction.
Harrigan is less keen on the
naturalist genre now. "It feels a little too confining to
me, a little too rhapsodic. I am interested in the human
relationship to nature. I find Thoreau and Edward Abbey
and those people less and less interesting. Thoreau's just
kind of lecturing me on what I should feel, or lecturing
me on the superiority of nature to humankind, when I feel
that the kind of unexplored territory is humankind as part
of nature. I think when we reject or embrace nature, we
tend to detach ourselves from it. Those are two poles of
the same logic, in a way."
Harrigan's move to magazine writing
coincided with his meeting Sue Ellen Line on a blind date.
When they married, they agreed that Sue Ellen would stay
home and take care of the kids, who soon numbered three,
all girls. Even as a staff writer at Texas Monthly,
Harrigan's responsibilities as the family's sole
breadwinner were daunting. Still, he persevered with his
fiction while he was working on his articles. His first
novel, Aransas, actually grew out of a magazine piece he
did about capturing dolphins. Aransas was published by
Texas Monthly Press, and was chosen as a notable book of
1980 by the New York Times. Harrigan's first agent, John
Sterling, sold his second novel, Jacob's Well, to Simon &
Schuster before becoming an editor at Houghton Mifflin.
Houghton gave Harrigan an advance to write his diving
book, Water and Light, but unfortunately, although
unanimously praised, it sold poorly. "Divers, it turns
out, don't read very much." Like Harrigan's collections of
essays, the book is now on the U.T. Press list.
In the '80s, Harrigan also started
writing screenplays. He and his neighbor, author Lawrence
Wright, got some movie scripts, saw how it was done, and
wrote a screenplay they actually sold. "Beginners luck,"
Harrigan says. Although the script was optioned by Sydney
Pollack, it was never made into a film. A long dry spell
followed, until finally HBO bought one of Harrigan's
scripts and made it into a TV movie in 1992. Since then,
he's added screenplay writing to his schedule.
The Alamo book was at first signed by
Sterling for Houghton Mifflin, "but when John moved to
Broadway Books it was orphaned."
"Larry [Wright] knew Ann Close at
Knopf. By this time Esther Newberg at ICM was my agent.
She submitted it to Ann at 100 pages, who accepted it. But
it turned out the book took five years longer than I
thought it would."
Harrigan knows that any account of
the Alamo will be examined from every angle in his home
state. Although he believes revisionism has gone too far,
he hasn't tailored the book to fit the "myth of the Alamo
as an ennobling defeat," which is of course the Texas
party line. "The myth is this glaze you have to hammer
through to what might be the reality. There's no more
powerful myth in American history than the Alamo."
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Profile of Stephen Harrigan
by
Laura Ohata in The Good Life magazine, April 2006
Open the door to
author Stephen Harrigan's office and you stand
face-to-face with a cardboard cutout of Chewbacca. Steve
smiles and says, "My youngest daughter gave me that
because she is a Star Wars freak." After I get past the
wookie guarding the door, I see tree branches waving in
the morning sun through two skylights that brighten
Harrigan's enviably airy workspace. A Macintosh computer
sits on a lightly littered, metal office desk that is more
functional than fashionable. A decade of bound magazine
back-issues from Harrigan's years as a staff writer and
senior editor at Texas Monthly sits on a built-in shelf
along the back wall.
These days,
Harrigan makes a busy day-job out of writing screenplays.
In his spare time he writes books, like The New York Times
best-seller Gates of the Alamo. His new novel, Challenger
Park, comes out this month. It's about a female astronaut
who balances her dangerous career with her duties to her
children.
Much like the
astronauts in Challenger Park, on the surface, Harrigan's
life is calm, but at times his work puts him in danger.
Some of Harrigan's real-life adventures include watching
open-heart surgery and diving in underwater caves, such as
the one he wrote about in Jacob's Well, a critically
acclaimed novel published in 1984 about an underwater cave
beneath Wimberley's Cypress Creek that has claimed the
lives of at least eight divers. While writing an article
about igloos, Harrigan traveled thirty miles across a
frozen sea and was almost killed in a runaway dog sled.
Safe at home in his
office, Harrigan is a creature of habit, focused on his
work that often involves three projects in a single day.
Lawrence "Larry"
Wright, Harrigan's friend and fellow writer, says, "Steve
is a meat-and-potatoes man. He doesn't like anything fussy
about his food. He will not put salad dressing on his
salad. He just likes lettuce and tomatoes. The holidays
throw him off because the mail doesn't come. The regular
rhythms of life are disturbed. So every holiday Steve will
complain. Fourth of July or Martin Luther King Day, he
gets grumpy. All of Steve's turbulence and adventurousness
is transferred to his writing."
Harrigan says, "At
first I dawdle around for a long time trying to figure out
ways to approach a project. Then it may take me three
weeks to write a page. But toward the end, I'll have
gathered all this force and knowledge about the characters
and about what's going to happen, and I'll just blitz
through it."
Wright says,
"Steve's style is luminous. It has this inner light that
so few writers ever achieve. He's always got one foot in
the wild and that always informs his characters. And
whether it's a woman going into space or himself going
diving, he is always retreating into nature."
Whether writing
novels or made-for-TV movies, Harrigan blends the
exhaustive research of a journalist (his office abounds
with boxes full of research materials for screenplays and
novels in various stages of progress) with the sensual
writing style of a poet, drawing heavily from a childhood
spent mostly in Texas.
He was born Michael
Stephen McLaughlin in Oklahoma City in 1948, only a few
months after his father-a World War II fighter pilot who,
after the war, became a test pilot and instructor for the
US Air Force-died in a plane crash. When his mother
remarried, he was adopted by his stepfather, Tom Harrigan,
and his name was changed to Stephen Harrigan. Then the
family moved to Abilene, Texas.
"Even in 1953,
Abilene was kind of a frontier town," he says. "You rode
your bike everywhere. There were all these plains and
hills, and (it was) pretty much undeveloped. You could
walk around and find arrowheads and there was a sense of
mystery everywhere."
In 1959, the family
moved to Corpus Christi.
"All of a sudden,
there was this ocean, he says. "For one thing the water
was limitless, and for another the water was impenetrable,
in that it was murky. A couple of times I saw dolphins and
I didn't know what they were. This was in 1959, before
National Geographic TV shows. There was no Flipper, no
universal fascination with dolphins and whales. They just
sort of rolled out of the water with their dorsal fins."
For Harrigan, the experience kicked off a lifetime
fascination with the ocean.
As a young adult,
Harrigan studied English at the University of Texas at
Austin. After receiving a degree in 1971, he continued
with studies in the graduate English program.
"I thought that to
be a writer I had to go to graduate school and the more
education I had the better. I thought that graduate school
would be about the joy of reading literature, but I
quickly discovered that it was about theory and dissecting
literary works in a way that made no sense to me at all."
After a few
semesters, Harrigan dropped out of graduate school and
took up yard work. Then, while mowing a lawn one day, he
realized that he could make more money writing magazine
articles.
"My goal was to
somehow pay my bills and be able to write," he says. He
started freelancing for Rolling Stone, The Atlantic
Monthly and others.
William "Bill"
Broyles Jr., founding editor of Texas Monthly, describes
the first time he met Harrigan: "Steve had a lawn-cutting
company and while he was cutting my yard we started
talking about writing. I asked him to do something for
Texas Monthly and he did and it was so good that not too
much later he gave up his yard business."
Sue Ellen Line and
Stephen Harrigan were married in 1975, about the time he
was hired as a staff writer at Texas Monthly.
"We agreed early on
that I would take on a full-time job so that she could
stay home with the kids," Harrigan says.
While on assignment
for the magazine, Harrigan went out on the ocean with a
dolphin-catching operation to capture live animals for the
Searama oceanareum, a now-defunct tourist attraction in
Galveston. The experience cemented the idea for Harrigan's
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