Ask the Author: Michael Wells
Answered Questions (7)
Michael Wells
Bringing the Dust Bowl and the Second World War to life required more than just checking dates and maps; it was about capturing the distinct "texture" of the 1930s and 40s.
My research process was a multi-layered approach designed to find the human story hidden within the historical record.
The Archives as Storytellers
I began by digging into primary sources—not just textbooks, but the raw, unfiltered accounts of the time.
The Library of Congress & National Archives: I spent significant time combing through oral histories, letters, and photographs from the Dust Bowl. Seeing the actual grit on the faces of families in 1934 provided a visual foundation that words alone couldn't convey.
Period Journalism: Reading newspapers from that specific era allowed me to capture the vernacular and the specific anxieties of the day. You learn quickly that people didn't know how history would end; they were living in a constant state of uncertainty.
Sensory Immersion
Historical fiction needs to be felt as much as read. To ground the setting, I focused on sensory details:
Atmospheric Research: I researched the weather patterns, the specific type of radio broadcasts common in the home, and even the nuances of how households managed rationing during the war.
Language and Dialogue: I worked to ensure the cadence of the dialogue felt authentic to the period without becoming inaccessible to modern readers. It was about finding that balance between period-accurate slang and clear, engaging storytelling.
Walking the Geography
While I couldn't visit the past, I could study the geography. Understanding the landscape—the vast, unforgiving distances of the Great Plains and the stark contrast of the environments my characters moved through—was crucial. It helped me understand why Erma & Clay’s choices (and the choices of those they left behind) were so difficult. Geography, in these stories, often acts as its own character.
I also drove the roads of Route 66 trying get a feel of the distances between cities.
The Human Element
Finally, the most challenging part of the research wasn't the history—it was the humanity. Researching the soldiers of the First Infantry Division, for instance, gave me the framework for what Vince would have seen and experienced, but I had to layer that with the emotional weight of what he left behind in Los Angeles. The "research" here was about empathy: asking myself what it would feel like to be separated from home by an ocean and a war, and how that silence would shape a man.
My research process was a multi-layered approach designed to find the human story hidden within the historical record.
The Archives as Storytellers
I began by digging into primary sources—not just textbooks, but the raw, unfiltered accounts of the time.
The Library of Congress & National Archives: I spent significant time combing through oral histories, letters, and photographs from the Dust Bowl. Seeing the actual grit on the faces of families in 1934 provided a visual foundation that words alone couldn't convey.
Period Journalism: Reading newspapers from that specific era allowed me to capture the vernacular and the specific anxieties of the day. You learn quickly that people didn't know how history would end; they were living in a constant state of uncertainty.
Sensory Immersion
Historical fiction needs to be felt as much as read. To ground the setting, I focused on sensory details:
Atmospheric Research: I researched the weather patterns, the specific type of radio broadcasts common in the home, and even the nuances of how households managed rationing during the war.
Language and Dialogue: I worked to ensure the cadence of the dialogue felt authentic to the period without becoming inaccessible to modern readers. It was about finding that balance between period-accurate slang and clear, engaging storytelling.
Walking the Geography
While I couldn't visit the past, I could study the geography. Understanding the landscape—the vast, unforgiving distances of the Great Plains and the stark contrast of the environments my characters moved through—was crucial. It helped me understand why Erma & Clay’s choices (and the choices of those they left behind) were so difficult. Geography, in these stories, often acts as its own character.
I also drove the roads of Route 66 trying get a feel of the distances between cities.
The Human Element
Finally, the most challenging part of the research wasn't the history—it was the humanity. Researching the soldiers of the First Infantry Division, for instance, gave me the framework for what Vince would have seen and experienced, but I had to layer that with the emotional weight of what he left behind in Los Angeles. The "research" here was about empathy: asking myself what it would feel like to be separated from home by an ocean and a war, and how that silence would shape a man.
Michael Wells
In my novel Unbroken Hope, the word "hope" serves as both a central theme and a necessary anchor for the characters as they navigate the immense hardships of the Dust Bowl and World War II.
Here is why that word carries so much weight throughout the narrative:
A Counterweight to Despair
The story is set against some of the most grueling periods of the 20th century. For the characters living through the environmental devastation of the Great Depression or the visceral dangers of the European theater, "hope" isn't just a sentiment; it is a survival mechanism. It appears frequently because it represents the only thing the characters can truly possess when their land, homes, or safety have been stripped away.
The Internal Driver
While the world around them feels broken, the word reinforces the internal resilience of the protagonists. Whether it is the hope for a raincloud on a parched farm or the hope for a safe return from the front lines with the First Division, the repetition mirrors the way people often cling to a single, repetitive thought to keep moving forward in dire circumstances.
A Link to Legacy
Since this story is a highly fictionalized version of a real family history, the word acts as a bridge between the past and the present. It underscores the spirit that allowed previous generations to endure and eventually thrive, turning a simple four-letter word into a symbol of the enduring human spirit that defines the book’s title.
By weaving it into the dialogue and internal monologues, the word becomes a rhythmic reminder that even in the darkest chapters of history, the possibility of a better tomorrow is what sustains us.
Here is why that word carries so much weight throughout the narrative:
A Counterweight to Despair
The story is set against some of the most grueling periods of the 20th century. For the characters living through the environmental devastation of the Great Depression or the visceral dangers of the European theater, "hope" isn't just a sentiment; it is a survival mechanism. It appears frequently because it represents the only thing the characters can truly possess when their land, homes, or safety have been stripped away.
The Internal Driver
While the world around them feels broken, the word reinforces the internal resilience of the protagonists. Whether it is the hope for a raincloud on a parched farm or the hope for a safe return from the front lines with the First Division, the repetition mirrors the way people often cling to a single, repetitive thought to keep moving forward in dire circumstances.
A Link to Legacy
Since this story is a highly fictionalized version of a real family history, the word acts as a bridge between the past and the present. It underscores the spirit that allowed previous generations to endure and eventually thrive, turning a simple four-letter word into a symbol of the enduring human spirit that defines the book’s title.
By weaving it into the dialogue and internal monologues, the word becomes a rhythmic reminder that even in the darkest chapters of history, the possibility of a better tomorrow is what sustains us.
Michael Wells
I chose to set my novel during the Dust Bowl because I wanted to explore the ultimate crucible of the human spirit. The Thirties provided a landscape where the environment itself acted as a relentless antagonist, forcing characters to find a sense of purpose even as the world literally blew away beneath their feet.
This era of struggle eventually forced a migration toward new beginnings, leading Erma to Los Angeles. However, the resilience forged in the dust was soon called to a different front. When Vince left Erma and Barbara Jean in California to serve in Europe with the Army’s First Division, he carried that hard-won endurance with him. I picked this timeframe because it captures the moment where the grit required to survive the Depression became the very foundation for the courage needed to face a world at war.
This era of struggle eventually forced a migration toward new beginnings, leading Erma to Los Angeles. However, the resilience forged in the dust was soon called to a different front. When Vince left Erma and Barbara Jean in California to serve in Europe with the Army’s First Division, he carried that hard-won endurance with him. I picked this timeframe because it captures the moment where the grit required to survive the Depression became the very foundation for the courage needed to face a world at war.
Michael Wells
Researching this period was a deeply immersive process that spanned several years, fueled by a desire to capture the authentic atmosphere of the era. I began by diving into primary sources—reading personal journals, letters, and newspapers from the time—to understand the vernacular and the day-to-day concerns of the people who lived through it.
Beyond the written word, I focused on several key areas to ensure the world felt lived-in:
Historical Geography: I spent a significant amount of time studying maps and archival photographs to visualize the landscape as it existed then, noting how cities were laid out and what the natural environment looked like before modern development.
Material Culture: To get the sensory details right, I researched everything from the specific tools used in daily labor to the fabrics of the clothing and the popular music of the day.
Literary Influence: as I have previously stated I also leaned on the works of authors like John Steinbeck and Larry McMurtry. Their ability to weave the harsh realities of history with a profound sense of place served as a major inspiration for how I approached the narrative texture of the book.
Technical Consultation: For more specialized elements, I looked into the technical manuals and logistics of the time, ensuring that the industry and infrastructure described in the story were grounded in fact.
Ultimately, it was about finding those small, specific "human" details that make a historical setting feel like a real, breathing place rather than just a collection of dates and facts.
Beyond the written word, I focused on several key areas to ensure the world felt lived-in:
Historical Geography: I spent a significant amount of time studying maps and archival photographs to visualize the landscape as it existed then, noting how cities were laid out and what the natural environment looked like before modern development.
Material Culture: To get the sensory details right, I researched everything from the specific tools used in daily labor to the fabrics of the clothing and the popular music of the day.
Literary Influence: as I have previously stated I also leaned on the works of authors like John Steinbeck and Larry McMurtry. Their ability to weave the harsh realities of history with a profound sense of place served as a major inspiration for how I approached the narrative texture of the book.
Technical Consultation: For more specialized elements, I looked into the technical manuals and logistics of the time, ensuring that the industry and infrastructure described in the story were grounded in fact.
Ultimately, it was about finding those small, specific "human" details that make a historical setting feel like a real, breathing place rather than just a collection of dates and facts.
Michael Wells
The story of Unbroken Hope resonates today as a powerful exploration of the human capacity to endure when the world feels increasingly fractured. While set against a specific historical backdrop, its themes act as a mirror for contemporary struggles in several key ways:
The Resilience of the Human Spirit
At its core, the narrative suggests that hope isn't a passive emotion, but a hard-won choice. In an era where many feel overwhelmed by rapid global changes or personal setbacks, the journey of the characters serves as a reminder that the "unbroken" part of hope comes from the willingness to rebuild after a collapse. It speaks to the grit required to maintain one's humanity when external circumstances are at their harshest.
Connection to Land and Heritage
The story emphasizes a deep, almost spiritual connection to the land—a theme that carries significant weight today as society grapples with its relationship to the environment and the loss of "place." It highlights the idea that understanding where we come from is essential to navigating where we are going, suggesting that our roots provide the stability necessary to weather modern storms.
The Complexity of Moral Courage
Rather than presenting a simple tale of good versus evil, the story delves into the difficult choices individuals must make to protect their families and their dignity. In a modern world often characterized by "black and white" thinking, Unbroken Hope reminds us that true courage often exists in the "gray areas"—the quiet, difficult decisions made far from the spotlight.
Universal Values in a Changing World
By drawing on the traditions of classic American storytelling, the book highlights several timeless virtues:
Perseverance: The refusal to let temporary defeat define one's future.
Integrity: Staying true to a personal code even when it is costly.
Legacy: The understanding that our actions today echo through the generations that follow.
Ultimately, Unbroken Hope tells us that while the challenges of the 21st century may look different from those of the past, the internal tools required to survive and thrive remain the same: faith, family, and an iron-clad resolve.
The Resilience of the Human Spirit
At its core, the narrative suggests that hope isn't a passive emotion, but a hard-won choice. In an era where many feel overwhelmed by rapid global changes or personal setbacks, the journey of the characters serves as a reminder that the "unbroken" part of hope comes from the willingness to rebuild after a collapse. It speaks to the grit required to maintain one's humanity when external circumstances are at their harshest.
Connection to Land and Heritage
The story emphasizes a deep, almost spiritual connection to the land—a theme that carries significant weight today as society grapples with its relationship to the environment and the loss of "place." It highlights the idea that understanding where we come from is essential to navigating where we are going, suggesting that our roots provide the stability necessary to weather modern storms.
The Complexity of Moral Courage
Rather than presenting a simple tale of good versus evil, the story delves into the difficult choices individuals must make to protect their families and their dignity. In a modern world often characterized by "black and white" thinking, Unbroken Hope reminds us that true courage often exists in the "gray areas"—the quiet, difficult decisions made far from the spotlight.
Universal Values in a Changing World
By drawing on the traditions of classic American storytelling, the book highlights several timeless virtues:
Perseverance: The refusal to let temporary defeat define one's future.
Integrity: Staying true to a personal code even when it is costly.
Legacy: The understanding that our actions today echo through the generations that follow.
Ultimately, Unbroken Hope tells us that while the challenges of the 21st century may look different from those of the past, the internal tools required to survive and thrive remain the same: faith, family, and an iron-clad resolve.
Michael Wells
The seed for Unbroken Hope was planted back in 2019, but its roots go much deeper into my own family history. I wanted to write a story that served as a highly fictionalized tribute to my mother’s life—a life shrouded in mystery because she never truly knew much about her own background or heritage.
To fill those silences in her history, I looked to the gritty, unvarnished style of masters like John Steinbeck and Larry McMurtry. I wanted to capture that same sense of "anti-romanticism" while exploring the journey of Erma and Barbara as they traveled from the dust of Oklahoma toward the hope of California.
However, life forced me to understand the book's themes of survival on a much more intimate level. In 2020, my wife nearly died from a ruptured colon, and her long recovery coincided with the world shutting down for the pandemic. The project sat untouched for years while we navigated that crisis. When I finally made a New Year’s resolution in 2024 to finish the manuscript, I wasn't just writing about a historical era anymore; I was writing about the resilience I had witnessed in my own home. I poured that perspective into four intense drafts to finally give my mother’s "unknown" past the voice it deserved.
To fill those silences in her history, I looked to the gritty, unvarnished style of masters like John Steinbeck and Larry McMurtry. I wanted to capture that same sense of "anti-romanticism" while exploring the journey of Erma and Barbara as they traveled from the dust of Oklahoma toward the hope of California.
However, life forced me to understand the book's themes of survival on a much more intimate level. In 2020, my wife nearly died from a ruptured colon, and her long recovery coincided with the world shutting down for the pandemic. The project sat untouched for years while we navigated that crisis. When I finally made a New Year’s resolution in 2024 to finish the manuscript, I wasn't just writing about a historical era anymore; I was writing about the resilience I had witnessed in my own home. I poured that perspective into four intense drafts to finally give my mother’s "unknown" past the voice it deserved.
Michael Wells
As I wrote in my Blog a few days ago...
when I set out to write Unbroken Hope, the shadow of John Steinbeck—specifically his masterpiece The Grapes of Wrath—was always present at my desk. There is no way to chronicle a journey from the parched plains of Oklahoma to the promised land of California without paying homage to the man who first gave a voice to the dispossessed.
For me, Steinbeck’s influence isn't just about the history of the 1930s; it’s about the philosophy of the human struggle and the quiet dignity found in those the world tries to forget.
The Dignified Struggle
What I’ve always admired most about Steinbeck is his ability to find the epic in the ordinary. He didn't write about kings or generals; he wrote about people whose greatest battle was finding their next meal or a place to sleep. In Unbroken Hope, I wanted to capture that same sense of "social realism." Erma is "alone and penniless," but she is never small. Her survival is an act of heroism, and her story is a testament to the fact that poverty does not equal a lack of character.
Landscape as Destiny
Steinbeck had a way of making the land a living, breathing participant in the story. In my work, the "parched plains of 1937" aren't just a backdrop—they are a catalyst. Like the Joads, Erma and Barbara are pushed by a world that has turned its back on them. I strove to mirror that Steinbeckian atmospheric pressure, where the dust and the hunger are as much an antagonist as any person Clay or Vince might encounter.
The Power of "The We"
A central theme in Steinbeck’s work is the transition from "I" to "we"—the idea that we survive only through the "unexpected kindness of strangers." In Unbroken Hope, Erma and Barbara's journey is defined by those they meet along the way. Whether it’s the light they find in Judy and Vince or the hands that reach out when they have nothing left, the story reflects that core belief: even in the darkest times, the human spirit can rebuild through connection and shared resilience.
A Modern Echo of a Classic
While Unbroken Hope is its own story, it is deeply rooted in the soil that Steinbeck tilled decades ago. It’s an exploration of the American spirit—not the version found in tall tales, but the one found in the fierce, protective love of a mother for her child and the courage to begin again when the world offers no mercy.
when I set out to write Unbroken Hope, the shadow of John Steinbeck—specifically his masterpiece The Grapes of Wrath—was always present at my desk. There is no way to chronicle a journey from the parched plains of Oklahoma to the promised land of California without paying homage to the man who first gave a voice to the dispossessed.
For me, Steinbeck’s influence isn't just about the history of the 1930s; it’s about the philosophy of the human struggle and the quiet dignity found in those the world tries to forget.
The Dignified Struggle
What I’ve always admired most about Steinbeck is his ability to find the epic in the ordinary. He didn't write about kings or generals; he wrote about people whose greatest battle was finding their next meal or a place to sleep. In Unbroken Hope, I wanted to capture that same sense of "social realism." Erma is "alone and penniless," but she is never small. Her survival is an act of heroism, and her story is a testament to the fact that poverty does not equal a lack of character.
Landscape as Destiny
Steinbeck had a way of making the land a living, breathing participant in the story. In my work, the "parched plains of 1937" aren't just a backdrop—they are a catalyst. Like the Joads, Erma and Barbara are pushed by a world that has turned its back on them. I strove to mirror that Steinbeckian atmospheric pressure, where the dust and the hunger are as much an antagonist as any person Clay or Vince might encounter.
The Power of "The We"
A central theme in Steinbeck’s work is the transition from "I" to "we"—the idea that we survive only through the "unexpected kindness of strangers." In Unbroken Hope, Erma and Barbara's journey is defined by those they meet along the way. Whether it’s the light they find in Judy and Vince or the hands that reach out when they have nothing left, the story reflects that core belief: even in the darkest times, the human spirit can rebuild through connection and shared resilience.
A Modern Echo of a Classic
While Unbroken Hope is its own story, it is deeply rooted in the soil that Steinbeck tilled decades ago. It’s an exploration of the American spirit—not the version found in tall tales, but the one found in the fierce, protective love of a mother for her child and the courage to begin again when the world offers no mercy.
About Goodreads Q&A
Ask and answer questions about books!
You can pose questions to the Goodreads community with Reader Q&A, or ask your favorite author a question with Ask the Author.
See Featured Authors Answering Questions
Learn more