This is one of those chatty posts, as though you and I might be sitting across a café table from each other and we are meeting for the first time. I’m drinking a cappuccino with a coffee macaron on the side. And you? You’re having a coffee as well? Excellent.
You want to know what I do?
Well…
I’m a bit sick of myself at the moment – I’m having a bit of an injury-prone Covid-isolation! But then all who know me would say that’s because I go at most things like a bull at a gate.
C’est la vie! It just means I can’t walk as far and as fast and that I’m more of a couch potato (which I have to say I hate!) which means a chance to continue on writing Reliquary and that’s fine because the story is ratcheting up.
Serendipity?
I’m sure you know that I’m having a break from writing hist.fict.
Ah, historical fiction!
I’ve read historical fiction as long as I can remember. I read simplified junior versions of historically based classics in primary school. In secondary school, the librarian introduced me to Henry Treece and Rosemary Sutcliffe. And it was at that moment, in Year Seven, first term, that I discovered a love that would never leave me. I have never put a single historical fiction book down in disgust because I felt the author had let me down with diluted fact or loose references. I don’t claim to know everything about every timeframe – how can anyone? So I just trusted every author to take me there as sensitively as they were able. That’s still my philosophy with reading historical fiction.
