PART 1: A secret Nazi breeding program?

 I want to start by sharing the first crazy thing I’ve found while hanging out in the past. The one that started it all and got me into writing historical fiction in the first place. It’s a story about a novel that changed my life.

Layoffs and baked potatoes

The story of this book starts with the pandemic and getting laid off in May of 2020. Probably feels familiar so far, right?’

The company that laid me off had been my employer for over five years. It wasn’t just a job. It had soaked into my whole identity. I couldn’t imagine life without it, even though I’d desperately wanted to quit long before the layoffs.

Naturally this plunged me into what I, having been raised Catholic, like to call a “dark night of the soul.” I was unsure of my place in a world that seemed only to be getting worse. I ate a lot of baked potatoes. I watched reality TV shows — and I never watch reality TV. 

I knew I wanted to take advantage of my suddenly completely free schedule to write, but what? My job had long ago snuffed out my creativity.  

So I took a generative writing class (online, of course). I began meditating. I tried to write a young adult fantasy novel, but found I needed to write something more than escapism, as important as I think that is. I needed to somehow try to make the world better. A slight net positive. 

One day — it was June now — I was going through my old notes filled with story ideas and found the words, “Nazi baby-making factory.”

I paused. Now that seemed interesting. I hadn’t dabbled much in the historical ideas I’ve had over the years, because who has time to do all that research?

Now, suddenly, I did!

And this Nazi thing seemed… relevant? Chillingly so?

But before I decided if I should write a novel about this subject, I wanted to do some preliminary research to find out if it was even a thing. As far as I can recall, it was my mom who first told me about the program. In our long car rides when I was growing up, she told me many stories about fascinating moments in history, augmented with her dramatic flair. But I don’t remember for sure.

I opened my laptop and searched. I immediately found the program: Lebensborn. There wasn’t much reliable information available on the internet, but that only made me more curious. What undiscovered nuggets of truth could I find? 

What even is a Nazi baby-making program?

I learned that Lebensborn wasn’t so much a baby-making factory as a maternity home run by the SS (the same branch of the Nazi government that was in charge of the concentration camps). This maternity home only accepted “racially valuable”— a.k.a. “Aryan” — mothers and babies. It appeared to be a social welfare program but was really a eugenics program.  

Founded in 1935, about half of the women who passed through Lebensborn were married, and another half were the mistresses of SS officers. The program was secretive — “discreet” — to protect the reputations of unmarried mothers, and because of its unfavorable reputation as an SS stud farm. But all the Reich cared about was the propagation of “Aryan” genes. 

Some babies went home with their mothers. Other babies were left at the homes to be adopted by SS families — though, because of the reputation, many did not want a baby from Lebensborn, and the creche soon overflowed. 

When I looked up from my screen, ten hours had passed. It was only just beginning to grow dark. I had barely eaten.

I felt compelled to write a novel about Lebensborn. It was a feeling unlike anything I’ve had before or since. Like a nudge from the universe. To tell an important story, not my own, to dig and uncover a mystery. To escape from the present, even if it was into a darker time.

And so I dove in…

I’ll share what happened next in future missives, but up next, some tidbits from history and a review of a historical novel that I recently got addicted to. Stay tuned!