Words for Writers - Avoiding the Pitfalls of Historical Fiction: Part Two

Welcome back! I’m delighted that you’re here for the second (and last) part of the historical fiction pitfall discussion. There’s no quiz today, because I’m certain that when you read the next selection, you’ll know immediately what’s wrong. This is the more than slightly modified opening scene of Paper Roses, the first of my Texas Dreams books.

March 1856

“It’ll be all right.”  Sarah Dobbs wrapped her arms around the child, wishing with all her heart that she could believe the words she’d uttered so often. The truth was, it didn’t matter what she believed. All that mattered was keeping Thea safe. And so Sarah knelt on the hard-packed dirt of San Antonio’s main street to wipe the tears from her sister’s cheeks. The child was hot, tired and excited by the unusual sights, a combination that turned normally sweet-tempered Thea querulous. 

Thea was too young to appreciate San Antonio’s rich history. The original Spanish settlement of San Antonio de Valero, named for the Viceroy, was founded in the same year as the French began New Orleans. Located just below the Balcones Escarpment, it had the advantage of a mild, dry, healthful climate; plentiful water and an abundance of limestone for building. In 1721 Valero himself sent a force of 54 soldiers to build a strong fort, what many would call a presidio, nearby. They named the fort San Antonio de Bejar, in memory of Valero’s brother, and by 1726 more than 200 men, women and children inhabited the area. Indians, of course, were not included in that count, although by the middle of the century, each of the five missions in the San Antonio region had more than 200 Indians.

The dominant tribes in Texas were the Apaches and the Comanches. The Spaniards were never able to conquer the first, and the second gave them the greatest defeat they ever suffered at the hands of natives in the New World. But all that had occurred over a hundred years ago. Now the city was part of the great state of Texas, the state that would soon be her home and Thea’s.

Are you yawning? Or did you decide that this was what a friend calls a wallbanger, a book that’s so bad that you hurl it against the wall rather than read it? I’ll admit that I’ve exaggerated the problem, but I’ve judged enough contests to know that including too much history is a common problem. 

It’s easy to understand why it happens. We do extensive research and we find so many fascinating details that we want to share them with readers. Unfortunately, heavy-handed infusion of history has the effect of boring readers, including those critical first readers: agents and editors.

      

So, how do you know what details to include and when? There are undoubtedly other ways to make that decision, but I suggest following three rules.

1. Remember that less is more. When you include historical facts, select the ones that are most critical. In many cases, these will be little-known facts that you’ve chosen to weave into your plot. If one of Sarah’s ancestors was one of the 54 soldiers who’d built the original fort, that would be the fact that I would have included, but rather than simply inserting the fact, I would have followed rule #2.

2. Ensure that each piece of history affects the character in some way. One of the problems with the passage above is that the paragraphs of historical facts have no tie to either Sarah or Thea. Consider the difference if I’d said, “Thea was too young to appreciate San Antonio’s rich history, but Sarah couldn’t dismiss the thrill that ran up her spine at the realization that she was only yards away from the fort her great-grandfather had helped build. Mother had raised her with tales of how Great Grandpa was one of the 54 soldiers the Viceroy had sent to build the presidio.”  In this case, there was a reason to have included that particular detail, and so the reader doesn’t feel as if she’s being force-fed history. 

3. And, most importantly, remember that you’re writing a novel. Your primary goal is to entertain. Readers do not expect a history lesson. As you edit your manuscript, look at each piece of research you’ve included and ask yourself, “Will the story make sense without this?”  If the answer is “yes,” delete it.

      

There’s no doubt that there are challenges involved in writing historical fiction and pitfalls to be avoided, but from my perspective there’s nothing quite so enjoyable as being transported to a different time and place. 

If you’ve always dreamt of telling stories about times gone by, I encourage you to make that dream come true. I’m looking forward to seeing your books on the shelves!

Words for Writers - Avoiding the Pitfalls of Historical Fiction: Part One

 Pitfalls. We all want to avoid them, don't we? Since I write historical fiction, I decided to talk about some potential pitfalls, but rather than give you a dissertation that will make your eyes glaze over, I thought we’d have some fun. My version of fun, anyway. It’s a little quiz. The object is to see what’s wrong with each of the following selections.

The first one is from a book set in 1170. Yes, the Middle Ages. 

“Can you not settle this peacefully?” Marguerite asked Alain. Surely he must see how conflicted she was by the situation. 

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Alain said, not bothering to hide his scorn, “but I thought it was a knight’s duty to protect his lady.”

Marguerite sighed. She wouldn’t go there. Instead, she nodded stiffly, then took her seat next to Louise. The teenager’s enthusiasm for the fight stood in marked contrast to her own reluctance to see blood shed. But the fight was over almost before it began. With one deft stroke, Alain sent Henri’s sword ricocheting against the wall.

If you guessed that there were anachronisms in it, you’re right. There are at least four. “Conflicted” came into general use in 1967. “Wouldn’t go there” is a phrase from the 1990s. “Teenager’s” first usage was 1921, and – this one surprised me – “ricocheting” wasn’t commonly used until 1828. 

Why worry about anachronisms? 

The first reason is that they brand you as a sloppy writer. You spend weeks, months, possibly years researching a book. The details of daily life are accurate; the speech patterns are authentic; you’ve even ensured that your characters eat common foods from the era. Why spoil the effect with an inappropriate term? Consider this: checking a word’s first usage is simply another form of research.

The second reason is that at least some of your readers will notice the anachronistic terms. For some it may be a mild annoyance. Others may find the errors so jarring that they stop reading. In either case, the suspension of disbelief that we strive so hard to create is broken, if only for a second. Don’t do it. Don’t risk losing readers. 

Okay, are you ready for quiz number two?

At least it wasn’t raining. Normally he wouldn’t mind it. In fact, he preferred rain when going into battle. Unfortunately, today he wasn’t waging war, nor was he facing an opponent at the other end of a lance. It would have been easier if he were. Even a few hours at the quintain would have been preferable to the fate which was now mere minutes away.

The knight on the silver gray destrier let the reins slacken as he looked around him. Though the wheat field could not compare to the raw magnificence of Outremer, there was no denying its beauty. It spoke of fertile ground, of centuries of tradition, of home. This morn it also reminded Alain de Jarnac of the obligation awaiting him.

This is another selection from the same medieval. While there are no anachronisms in this passage, I would venture that some of the vocabulary made you pause. Admittedly, devotees of medievals are familiar with quintains (a post with a revolving crosspiece that knights used for training) and know that a destrier is a war horse. They’d also know that Outremer meant overseas and was a term used during the Crusades. 

But – and this is an important “but” – many readers won’t recognize those terms. If a potential reader picked up the book and glanced at this passage, the chances are she wouldn’t buy the book, simply because of the unfamiliar words. You don’t want that to happen, and so I urge you not to fall into this potential pit. 

Either use common words or include an explanation. For example, if the author had replaced the simple reference to a quintain with “a few hours of jousting against the revolving arms of the quintain post,” the reader would have understood what a quintain was and might have smiled over the fact that he’d learned something new. The key is never to make a reader feel stupid. 

That’s all for today, but I’ll be back next week with part two of the pitfall discussion. I hope to see you then.

Words for Writers - So, You Want to Write Historical Fiction

If one of your dreams is to write historical fiction, read on. If it isn’t … well, you’re welcome to continue reading. 

I don’t claim to have all the answers – far from it – but I do know that if you want to write historical fiction, there are three basic questions you need to answer. 

1. What kind of historical fiction do I want to write?

Brilliant, bestselling, award-winning are not the answers I’m looking for, although there’s no doubt that’s what we all hope we’re writing. Instead, I challenge you to identify the category of historical fiction that most appeals to you. There are undoubtedly other ways to divide historical fiction, but I’ve split them into two groups: fictionalized history and period fiction.

Fictionalized History

In fictionalized history, the events of the period play a critical role in the story. Just to further complicate things, I’ve divided fictionalized history into two sub-categories. 

* In the first, the main characters are well-known historical figures. Jill Eileen Smith’s Wives of King David series is a good example of this. 

* You’ve probably guessed that the other sub-category features protagonists who are fictional or less-known figures. Consider Diana Wallis Taylor’s Journey to the Well. Though the heroine is a Biblical character, without Diana’s book we wouldn’t even know her name. I’d call her a less-known figure. 

Regardless of the sub-category, real historical events form the framework of the plot in fictionalized history. 

So, you might ask, what differentiates this from non-fiction? The emotions. Are you familiar with the journalistic Five Ws? Using those terms, readers of fictionalized history know what happened, where and when. The book provides the answer to why and makes the who come to life.

Period Fiction

In contrast to fictionalized history with its focus on real people, the main characters of what I call period fiction are fictional. Historical personages, if any, play minor roles in the story. Similarly, historical events form the backdrop, not the framework, for the story. Most of the historical fiction books currently published by either the CBA or the secular market fall into this category.

The difference between fictionalized history and period fiction is critical, particularly where reader expectations are concerned. While readers of fictionalized history want to delve more deeply into the story of real people, readers of period fiction want to be transported to a different time. They want to learn about that time but from the view of ordinary people rather than historical personages whose biographies they might be able to find in the library or on Wikipedia.

Which category is the right one for you? 

Only you can answer that question. The key is to write the kind of book you love to read. While it’s true that the market for period fiction is larger than for fictionalized history, if the story that’s burning in your heart is fictionalized history, write it!

That leads us to the second question.

2. How much history should I include?

I wish it were otherwise, but the answer is that oh, so frustrating “it depends.”  Readers of fictionalized history expect more references to actual events than do readers of period fiction. In either case, it’s important to remember that you are writing fiction and that the primary focus of fiction is entertainment, not information. If all a reader wants are the simple facts about a particular event, she can find them in the non-fiction section of the library or bookstore. If on the other hand, she wants to live those events through a character’s eyes, she’ll choose fiction.

When deciding which historical facts to include, my theory is that less is more. Include the events that shape your protagonists’ lives and omit the others – no matter how fascinating they might be – unless they have a direct impact on your characters.

3. How do I make my book feel historical?

Although there are numerous techniques, I’d like to suggest three.

* Judicious use of historical-sounding dialogue. Notice the word “judicious.”  Depending on the period you’ve chosen, authentic dialogue might overwhelm the reader or – even worse – slow the book as the reader tries to translate it into modern English. Overuse of “thee,” “thou” and “ye” can become tedious. On the other hand, the occasional “whilst” instead of “while” and “four-and-twenty” rather than “twenty-four” gives the dialogue an historical feel without becoming burdensome to the reader.

* Era-appropriate analogies. If you’re writing a story set in the nineteenth century, you’d hardly describe something as being at “warp speed.”  However, consider the following selection from Vickie McDonough’s The Anonymous Bride.

“They crossed the street, shoulder to shoulder, like a trio of gunslingers looking for trouble.”

With the reference to gunslingers, is there any question that we’re in the nineteenth century?

* Telling Details. Sometimes it’s the smallest of details that adds historical authenticity to a story. I like the way Stephanie Grace Whitson needs only one sentence in Sixteen Brides to bring the nineteenth century to life.

“Button hook in hand, she sat down and lifted Caroline’s foot into her lap, quickly unhooking each of the ten buttons running up the side of the stylish black leather boot.”

Another author might simply have mentioned the button hook, but the inclusion of “ten buttons” and the notation that they’re “running up the side” gives the passage a feeling of authenticity that can’t help but intrigue readers.

Have I confused you or – even worse – discouraged you? I hope not. The bottom line is that while writing historical fiction is not easy, it can be very rewarding. Not only does it give you a chance to bring earlier times to life for your readers, but it’s also a chance for you to learn new things as you do your research. If you’re at all interested in writing historical fiction, I urge you to do so. After all, who can resist the lure of “once upon a time”?