I was thinking today about historical fiction. And no, not just because I’ve recently finished the edits on one. But one thing I’ve noticed is that some readers have commented that they don’t usually read historical romance, but they’ll give Sweetwater a try. That’s a huge compliment!

Writing a historical is always a gamble. A lot of readers don’t want to read historical romance. And, as any writers will tell you, a historical romance will not pay the bills. Which is fine. I’m not going to force anyone to read what they don’t want to read, and I have a day job that pays the bills. But I am curious as to why some people might not like historicals.

Is it that the story lacks immediacy? It is difficult to connect to someone who, even if they were real, would have been dead for generations, or even centuries? I don’t know, because I love historical stories.

I wouldn’t write them if I didn’t.

Ever since I was a kid I’ve loved history. History is every story ever told. It’s the biggest library in existence. Sure, sometimes on the surface it looks dull and dry, but you don’t need to dig very far to find the vibrant colour underneath. People are fascinating, and they have always been fascinating, whatever stage they’re on. And while history is a treasure trove of wonderful backdrops just waiting to be used, people themselves still want the same things they’ve always wanted. And they’re still motivated by the same fears and desires that have always motivated them.

I blame my combined love of history and storytelling on the two years I spent in Papua New Guinea as a kid. Being too young to go to school, I wandered the neighbourhood in my underwear instead with my best friend Oplika Spot. Oplika Spot was a dog. Together we would go visiting, i.e. scrounging for food.

The best place to scrounge for food was Diane’s place. Diana went to school with my sister. Her dad worked in the mines, and her mum worked as well. So during the day, it was just Grandma at home. Grandma was from one of the tribes up in the hills, I think. She didn’t speak any English, and my Tok Pisin didn’t extend much further than asking for bananas.

Also, swear words. I knew all the swear words.

So most days I ended up in Diane’s back yard, crouched in my underpants around the cooking fire – a banana leaf on my head in case it rained – while Diane’s grandma told me and Oplika Spot stories. Stories about magic, and spirits, and how the earth was made and where people came from. With a belly full of sweet potato and banana, I listened for hours. If I didn’t understand all of the words, I at least understood the rhythm of her stories, and I understood that it was important to know where you came from and who your ancestors were.

So, to me anyway, a historical setting is no less immediate than a contemporary setting. For that matter, neither is a sci-fi setting. I’ll read anything set anywhere, and I’ll write it as well.

What about you? Do you read historical fiction?