In the space of just a few days, I got three different magazine subscription offers, boom, boom, boom, and thought I’d share my thoughts.

First, this short-and-sweet offer from Dog Fancy. The main piece is what I think of as a “two-thirds” mailing, because instead of being 11″ long like a standard sheet of paper, it’s roughly two-thirds of, that, and simply folded in half along the perforation. The top half is the reply form and the bottom half is the “Summary of Benefits.” Though, the proportion for that seems all wrong–it looks like it was actually cut off, as if there should be a bottom third.

The only insert is a two-sided, color piece that gives quotes from readers on one side and a list of what the magazine offers on the other–all liberally decorated by pictures of cute dogs.

Personally, if it were up to me, I would have made the actual reply piece the one that was more colorful and eye-catching–that piece, the one people have to look at to actually subscribe is where the action is. The insert is nice, but my feeling is that you shouldn’t waste your color and extra-eye-catching design on the piece that’s going in the garbage later on–if it’s looked at all.

Second, a piece from New Jersey Monthly. This comes on a full-size sheet of paper with color illustrations of the magazine. The top two-thirds are the subscription offer, with the bottom third being the return-coupon. This means that, reading the piece, your eye ends at the spot where you take action–”Detach here and mail. Keep top portion for your records.” (Though, since that is ON the top portion, it makes it sound as if you’re detaching the top and mailing it back, but that’s really just quibbling.)

This offer came with not one, but three inserts–all the small, buck-slip size. A yellow paper telling me this is a limited-time offer. A glossy slip telling me about the special “A-to-Z Guide” that’s a premium for subscribing. Third, a little, glossy booklet with the fantastic headline, “Everything you want is in New Jersey … if you know where to look!” (I particularly liked how the font changed on the state name so that it matched the logo of the magazine. And I love the slogan–New Jersey gets too bad a rap, you know? )

If only because of the variety of inserts and the full-size of the main piece, I liked this mailing a little better. There was enough space for them to sell the magazine, and it didn’t leave me turning the page over looking for the rest of the “benefits.”

Third, this Knit Simple offer, which kind of blew the other two out of the water.

Firstly, it’s different. The offer IS the mailing piece. It’s not a piece of paper that was inserted into an envelope. Instead, it’s a fold-out, cardstock presentation. Two sides, four panels, lots of color, lots of pictures. Very eye-catching. It has a substantial feel in the hand, and it’s refreshing not to have lots of little extra pieces to lose or drop on the floor.

Not only that, it kind of looks like a magazine–it gives you a feel for the look of the magazine, full of color and knitted pieces, and since it’s all one piece, you actually look at all of it. The reply portion is a business-reply card ready to be detached from the innermost fold of the mailing. No envelopes to lose. Nothing fussy.

Of course, the caveat is that this kind of piece is going to be a lot more expensive to produce than something printed on a standard laser printer and stuffed in a standard envelope, but … it sure did catch my eye. And isn’t that the point?

I’ve been talking about the difference between gathering information for specific reasons or for general information, because sometimes you need to know specific things and sometimes you just want a big, general overview.

Digging into archives to dig out a specific name, a particular fact can be satisfying. Like a detective looking for clues, you know you’re looking for one, certain thing that can prove your hypothesis, or that you can hang your entire story on. It’s like solving a puzzle, and that can be very, very satisfying. But I find that there is as much pleasure in just doing general background reading. The beauty of that is—if you’re not trying to get to a specific place and are just meandering through—you’re going to see so much more, be open to new possibilities.

Okay, say you need to drive from New York to California, you’ve got two possibilities. You can plot the quickest route, climb in the car and head out to the highway and cruise at 70 m.p.h. for the next 10 hours with a couple rest stops. If you persevere, you’ll be there in a week.

Except, you will have missed the chance to see any sights on your way. The Great Lakes? Oh, was that the gleam I saw on the horizon on the way by? The Mississippi River? Well, it was dark when we crossed it. The Rocky Mountains? Oh, I remember those, the car really had to work to get up the incline.

Research is often blinkered—you get so focused on the one piece of information you need, you forget to look around.

Or, maybe you take the Tourist’s approach. You need to get to California, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime journey, so you decide to take advantage. You swing south to stop at the nation’s capital and then head down toward New Orleans, cruising along the Gulf Coast, stopping at the Grand Canyon, and generally just meandering your way across the continent, stopping when you see something interesting, and just taking in the view.

The beauty of reading for general background (as opposed to specific research) is that all the possibilities are open to you.

Just in the last week, I’ve found a few details that have made my creative juices flow.

• Like, for example, after WWI ended, Britain had 2 million more women than men, having lost so many soldiers in the war. One headmistress told her graduating class that only 1 girl in 10 of them would ever get married because there simply was no one left for them to wed; they would have to find something else to do with their lives. For a generation raised to believe that marriage and motherhood were the pinnacle of feminine abilities, that is a terribly frightening statistic.

…I immediately started to wonder, what do you do if you would like to get married but there literally is no one to marry? They’re not just hard to find or “the good ones are taken.” They are dead and gone, and your entire generation, sorry, is out of luck. But, in the meantime, you’ll excuse the rest of us if we look down on you for being a spinster and are reluctant to give you a job because the men need those, can’t you sit in a corner somewhere out of the way? All 2,000,000 of you?

• Or, I needed to know the name of the Governor of New Jersey in 1917 for my main character to shake hands with. It turns out that Walter Evans Edge—a man I’d never heard of—was governor not only during World War I but World War II as well. In between, he served in the U.S. Senate and was ambassador to France until the outbreak of WWII led him to re-enter politics.

… This caught my attention. He must have been a remarkable man. He must have done a wonderful job leading the state in World War I, if the electorate was willing to vote for him again 30 years later. So, why have I never heard of him? Is there a monument somewhere? A plaque? Something that honors a 70-ish year old man for taking up such a hard job again in a time of war? What kind of governor was he? What kind of man?

• Did you know that in 1917, King George V changed the family name from the German-sounding House of Saxe-Coburg & Gotha to the House of Windsor? This goes way beyond calling Sauerkraut “Liberty Cabbage.” Your name defines you in so many ways–whether it’s the name you were born with, or one you married into (or away from). It’s not something most of us change lightly.

…At a time of war, when hundreds of thousands of young men (and some women) were being slaughtered … what made the British royal family decide to completely change their sense of identity? To cut themselves off from years of German-related pride? Kaiser Wilhelm I was the first-born grandson of Queen Victoria, after all.

But, see? This is the point.

If you’re busy focusing on the one thing you need, you’re not going to have time to take these little mental side trips. And isn’t that what creativity is all about? Visiting the lesser-seen spots, pointing out the inspiring views and interesting history along the way?

(This is part 3 of a series. Read Part 1 HERE. And, Part 2 HERE.)

So, what’s brought this subject up, anyway? (Read Part 1 here.) I’ve been reading about the World War I era to get a feel for it for my Titanic-book sequel. I’m skimming my way through books and websites, picking up ideas and tidbits of (possibly) useful information, but I’m not looking for anything specific.

At this precise moment, I don’t even know what I need to know.

I haven’t worried about the dates of the battles, or the names of the generals—they are not really necessary to my story. My characters don’t know all the details of what was happening at the front, and they don’t really care. They are busy just trying to live their lives.

Background is all about color.

I’m reading these WWI books for an idea of the world my characters lived in. Without some general knowledge of life in 1917-1919, my book would be like a pencil sketch of a person, detailed in itself, but which has no background, no real setting to give it perspective.

When you’re writing—no matter what you’re writing—you want a full-blown painting—rich with color, and with a complete background.

You can’t get that with just a few facts. Anybody who ever sat through a boring history class in school knows this. Bare facts are dry, but stories are interesting. I might know that the United States broke off diplomatic relations with Germany on February 3, 1917, but it doesn’t tell me the reasons—the debates at home about German submarines, or trench warfare, the economic involvement with Britain and France, the debate over the draft. My characters might not be busily debating these things in meaningful chapter-long dialogues, but they’re reading them in their morning newspapers, worrying about them when they toss in bed at night.

I don’t need to mention them, I just need to KNOW them, just like I know that my vacuum cleaner sucks up dirt and dog fur, that my cellphone can send text messages, that there are 50 states in the United States of America, and millions of other little bits of information that set me in MY place in time. I know these things that inform my world, but they don’t necessarily have an immediate impact on my daily life.

Research is for when you are looking for something specific.

On the other hand, if I want to describe what my main character wore to meet the Governor, I’m going to need an idea of what fashions were like in 1917. That’s research.

If I need to know the name of the Governor, that’s research.

Did she ride in a car or in a horse-drawn carriage to meet him? Research.

Could he have received an important phone call while she was there? Research.

See? Knowing that telephones are fairly common in 1917 is background, but the minute I need to know for a specific reason, it becomes research. Knowing that there was a governor my character could meet is background (because, of course New Jersey had a governor), but learning his name was research.

Mind you, this distinction is entirely my own personal definition. A lot of the time gleaning background information and doing research are exactly the same—sitting with a book or a handy search-engine, looking for knowledge. But you can read a car’s instruction manual out of pure curiosity and you’re a responsible car owner, or you can read it because your engine is leaking fluids and you need to figure out why right now … the NEED is different.

(This is part 2 of a series. Read Part 1 HERE.)