Determined to finish a story I began a few years ago, set in my hometown of Butte, Montana, I had no idea where it would lead. What began as memoir has morphed into a historical fiction novel, with fictitious characters based on real people and events.

I’ve always wanted to write a story with Butte as the setting, because of its colorful culture and history. I grew up loving and hating my hometown and couldn’t wait to leave it. Once gone though, my perspective changed. Now, when I visit Butte, I discover things I didn’t appreciate before. I value and appreciate the people whom I have shared history with, more than before. I’ve also made a shameful discovery: I never really knew Butte. Not really. And while I thought I knew her history, I really didn’t. Her boom took place long before me or my parents were born.

I feel like I’ve missed something. I never appreciated where I grew up. I didn’t realize how Butte’s people shaped me. I took a writing class recently that asked what compelled me to write this book. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t answer because I was afraid to dig deep into places I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

But isn’t that how we discover who we are?

It takes a unique, quirky town to raise a kid. Butte was that way—almost to a fault. I finally figured that out, which is a theme in this novel.

Growing up, I made my way through this rough-and-tumble place, along with everyone else, and what I experienced I’ve always thought to be normal. That is, until I circulated my first draft chapters around writing critique groups in faraway Alaska, who told me, no—my experiences weren’t exactly “normal.” So what is normal? I’ve read a plethora of memoirs and coming-of-age novels about people who had weirder, more whacked-out experiences than me. I’ve decided normal is just a frame of mind.

I can answer the question now. I’m writing this book as a tribute to the people of Butte, the good, the bad, the ugly, the quirky. My challenge is to do it justice—to write it so when it is hopefully read, there will be nods and smiles of understanding. It’s a tall order. I figure by declaring this out in the blogosphere, I won’t give up on it—which is always tempting—because my Butte peeps will hold my feet to the fire.

In the meantime, I’m getting to know my hometown—really knowing it—for the first time. I explored every nook and cranny of Butte last summer: I drove her streets, walked around and toured the Copper King Mansion and other sites, and researched history at the Archives Office. I can’t write a story set 60 years ago without first knowing the history behind the history. I’m reading The War of the Copper Kings, by C.B. Glasscock, written in 1934, and a host of other books. It’s fun reading Butte’s history, because the texts read like novels.

In 1973, I took a class at University of Montana, “Montana and the West,” taught by K. Ross Toole. To say that he was a popular professor was an understatement. His class was impossible to get into, and when I finally did, students and other professors sneaked in for standing room only lectures. His lively lectures about Butte’s history and the war of the copper kings was brilliantly re-enacted. He had passion for telling the story of copper mining and the havoc wreaked in what began as a small mining camp in the late 19^th century on a hill, called Summit City. His lectures were spectacular.

Ever since Toole’s class, I’ve wanted to write a novel set in Butte. It didn’t happen until now. Better late than never.

What a wild ride this will be.

© Lois Paige Simenson and The Alaska Philosophaster, 2016, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to The Alaska Philosophaster with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.                      LIPS