Icy's Guide to writing Historical Fiction

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Having read the excellent guest post by the equally excellent Carrie Clevenger over at Write Anything about writing historical fiction, I thought I might take the time to sit down, and have a bit of a chat about my own process. Lately I've been basing some flashes on local legends or historical anecdotes, and I've discovered I really enjoy doing so.

Fowlis Westerby
I first began flirting with history when I wrote my first novel, Fowlis Westerby. Fowlis himself is a ghost and therefore free from the restraints of time, but as he is originally a Cavalier, I needed to have some awareness of the English Civil War. Hazy memories of studying the Stuarts at school was clearly not enough, and I've been spending some time researching the period. Madame Blavatsky also makes an appearance, so again I delved into the history books to find out more about this fascinating figure.

Local legends and anecdotes
I've already written a post about the origins of the tale that inspired my flash about the Black Knight, but my most recent flash, The Resurrection Men, and an exclusive flash which will only appear in my forthcoming e-book, a tale named The Charterhouse Bullies, were both inspired by historical events. History can sometimes seem so dry and far removed from us. How can we connect with people and places that are long gone? Personally, I love reading historical non-fiction. Only this week, I've bought a book on Victorian social history, and another on medieval England (research for the third tale from Vertigo City). One of my passions is London history - I might be a Geordie but London is my current home, and I like to know where I'm living. Besides, London has a rich and eccentric history, and it provides ripe fodder for fictional prompts.

It starts
So how do I go about writing it? Well it usually starts with a book. I might be a film student but I do love reading. So there I am, reading about whatever has taken my fancy on that particular day, and something leaps out at me. One of two things now happens. Sometimes a story pops into my head, fully formed, that is designed solely to add a human face to an anecdote or legend. The rest of the time, the seed of an idea drops into the top soil of my mind, and I have to do a little gardening to get it to grow. By gardening, I obviously mean research, but you knew that, didn't you? Of course you did.

Research
When I say research, what is the first thing that pops into your head? If you thought, "Wikipedia", then get out of my classroom now, and don't come back until you've written "Encyclopaedia Britannica" 800 times. Wikipedia CAN be a useful source of information, but, like most things on the Internet, it is written and edited by ANYONE. Take what you find on it with a hearty dose of salt - much of it is written by experts for other experts but that won't stop some bored jackass changing the details.

Books
Instead, go to a library. Bloggers might be predicting the death of publishing but real books still exist, and they still contain an absolute wealth of knowledge. Read all you can about your chosen topic - accept what feels right, discard what doesn't. Remember that these will be mostly secondary sources and their primary sources might not be the most reliable. Even if you find primary sources, consider their original purpose and remember that they might be biased, and if they're memoirs, remember that people won't always tell you the whole story, and even if they do, the human memory is not infallible.

Media
If your historical period is after the mid-1800s, seek out photographs. Yes, some early photographs were faked, or fake merely in the sense that they are highly posed, but they'll still give you a greater clue to details, ambience and basic setting than any amount of description in a book. Photographs act as wonderful prompts anyway, but old photographs do so in a completely different way. Why not use old family photographs to write the invented histories of your ancestors? Experience media from the period in whatever way you can - Carrie also recommends listening to music from the period, but movies are also a good example. Yes, they may be sanitised, romanticised, or simply from one point of view, but what they DON'T contain often tells you more than what they DO. You can also check out paintings, engravings, or even tapestries. If you've got a local fashion or textiles museum, pay a visit - costume can tell you a lot about social convention or mobility.

Locations
If it's possible, visit locations. I write a lot in London so obviously I can pop out and see the places. Many of them no longer exist, but while the street or building itself has long since gone, there will no doubt be somewhere similar nearby. There is enough of London's strange atmosphere to soak up that I can get by on what I absorb simply walking around.

Eyewitnesses
If your piece occurs within living memory, then talk to people who were there. Again, be wary of rose-tinted spectacles or skewed memories, but you can still get plenty of details from a conversation with someone who experienced a period firsthand that you'd never get from a book. If it doesn't occur within living memory, then try and track down oral histories. There are several that deal with the Victorian period due to the sudden interest taken in the lower orders. The documentation is mind-boggling.

Immerse yourself and put it all together
Hopefully, if you immerse yourself in a period for long enough, you'll feel that little 'click' when it all comes together. Your idea will be rooted in a sense of 'reality' and your research will help bring a past time to life. This reality will breathe life into characters and places that are long gone - and hopefully you'll have a better sense of where you come from, and what has gone before. Go forth on your historical quest - and good luck.

Friday Flash - Resurrection Men

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This story has been taken down as it's gone out for submission!

The Legend behind the Black Knight

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This week's Friday Flash, A Black Night In The Churchyard, seems to have captured a lot of people's imaginations. After the good reception that my post on Bunhill Fields cemetery got, I thought I would dabble in local history again and explain a little about the setting that inspired my flash.

In the heart of Newcastle upon Tyne stands St Nicholas' Cathedral (see left), the Church of England church for the Diocese of Newcastle. A church has stood on this site since 1091, although the original parish church burned down in 1216. It was rebuilt in 1359, and it became a cathedral in 1882. The lantern spire dates to 1448. In my humble opinion, it is one of the most beautiful ecclesiastical buildings in the entire country. Certainly, York Minster, Durham Cathedral or Canterbury Cathedral are impressive, but St Nicholas' smaller scale makes it seem almost cosy. I am not religious in the slightest but I still find the place quite welcoming (though that may be due to the friendly volunteers who'll take you around during the day to point out notable features).

Inside the Cathedral is a tomb. This isn't particularly remarkable due to the English insistence on burying their dead under the foundations of their holy buildings (although the great Christopher Wren wanted an end to the practice due to the subsidence problems caused by a combination of rotting flesh, noxious gases and early building materials). This particular tomb is believed to house an anonymous knight. Local lore has it that his lord gave him instructions to protect the Church, which he continues to do even in death.

Clanking armour and the sound of metal-clad feet on gravel have been heard, while people have also reported seeing a cloak disappearing around the corner, or through a wall. Alone in the Dark Entertainment run ghost walks and tours in the area, so I asked David Marshall, one of their guides, about the story of the boy who broke the window.

"A small group of chavs were sitting drinking some cheap liquor within the grounds when one of the lads started arguing with his female partner for the night. In a fit of drunken rage, he threw a bottle at the window, destroying centuries of history within seconds. Without a thought for what he'd done, the lad and his group continued arguing and shouting, eventually leaving the site and heading back to their homes.

"For days afterwards, the lad was plagued by dreams, waking up in a cold sweat with fading visions of swords being hung above his head and a dark figure chasing him through his sleep. The dreams grew worse and  in the coming weeks other things started happening. The TV would turn itself on and off, objects would be moved when no one was in the room, keys would disappear only to reappear weeks later in full view. On and on these events went, gradually getting worse and worse, to the point of things being thrown by an unseen source.

"The dreams continued, the sword, the dark shape from a darker place.. a warning.. Admit his sin or perish. The lad was taken to psychiatrists, where they could only suggest sleeping tablets. A team was called in to investigate the strange happenings at home, the poltergeist, the daemon, the angry spirit.
Nothing helped. The lad could take it no longer and travelled into the city, walked into the police station and begged to be locked up. ... He was taken to trial, all the while the torments continued, until the moment at which the gavel struck and the sentence passed. In that one instance, the torment ended. ... The boy slept safe and secure, penance paid, in his cell."

Given that it is unlikely a drunken hooligan would be aware of the Black Knight, it is therefore easy to discount the possibility of him "imagining" these events as a symptom of his paranoia. I've always liked this particular story, although it has since been left out of the ghost walk at the Cathedral's request. I wanted to celebrate the work of the Knight, and that provided the impetus to write the flash.

I admit that I did change a few details, since the Cathedral is far from being forgotten or dilapidated, although it is true that building work in the area has eaten into the churchyard and changed the level of the ground. The yard was also the site of grave robbing, and other ghosts have been seen in the area. I also took a little artistic license since the Knight of legend terrorises ne'er-do-wells rather than consuming their souls.

I do hope that the Knight one day manages to find peace, but sadly I think the descent of humanity into new levels of selfishness and degradation will mean he is needed more than ever.

* * *

If you're in Newcastle upon Tyne, then I highly recommend a visit to St Nicholas' Cathedral. I also recommend checking out the many tours and walks that Alone in the Dark Entertainment run. If you're interested in the dark tales of my home town, then Vanessa Histon's Nightmare on Grey Street and Ghosts of Grainger Town are both excellent places to start!

Friday Flash - A Black Night in the Churchyard

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A small rock scuttled across the medieval stones. A fox looked up from his foraging near the gate. His amber eyes saw the Black Knight sitting on a low tomb. The knight kicked his feet against the faded inscription, and fiddled with his gauntlets. He cast his gaze around the lurching gravestones. He no longer saw the names; he knew each and every one of them. He knew their dates of birth, and their dates of death. He occasionally invented stories for them to keep himself amused.

Drunken chatter drifted across the still air. He looked up, but watched in dismay as the four shrill girls continued past the gate. The churchyard used to be a popular thoroughfare between two busy streets. An office block now blocked the way at the northern end, its car park butted up against the graveyard wall. The neglected church sat as if invisible while the city grew up around it, a medieval island in a sea of modernity.

The knight knew what it was to be forgotten. He hauled himself off the tomb to roam the small churchyard. Years of local building development altered the yard, changing its boundaries and disturbing graves. He hoped a developer might find his grave by accident. Caught in limbo, he was confined to the churchyard until he knew where his body was buried.

The Black Knight had guarded the churchyard for eight centuries. In earlier times, grave robbers, murderers, rapists, gangsters, and thieves all tried to ply their trade in his yard. The oath he swore to punish the evildoer held as much sway in death as it did in life. He consumed their souls and left their bodies as shambling walking corpses. His reputation even prevented crime as tales of clanking armour and dark shadows carried far and wide across the region.

Times changed. No one believed in ghosts or justice any more. He patrolled his abandoned corner of the city centre, forgotten and lonely. Not to mention hungry. What was it, forty, or fifty, years since his last meal? The sun rose and set, and still he wandered among the graves. The wind whistled through the dilapidated church, while weeds grew rampant. In his earlier years, he tried knocking on the coffins. He got no answer. Their occupants had already sailed across the Styx, but Charon would not take him. Without his body, he had no payment for the ferry.

Glass smashed near the gate. The knight looked up. A fat youth threw a second bottle over the wall. Green glass shattered against a moss-covered gravestone. The knight's sacred duty to protect swelled in his chest as the youth pushed open the gate. The hinges squealed in protest. The youth staggered along the overgrown path. He lurched behind Mrs Martha Eddowes’ gravestone to relieve himself. The knight drew his sword.

The youth zipped up his trousers. He turned around to face the church. Only one window remained intact. The stained glass told the story of the Annunciation. The Black Knight guarded it with a possessive zealotry. Besides the church, that single window was the only thing on this ground older than him. Twelfth century glass, and still perfect.

The youth picked up a large stone. He tested the weight in his hand. The Black Knight growled. He didn’t like where this was going, but he could do nothing until the youth did something wrong.

The stone flew through the air, and crashed into the ancient window. The glass imploded inwards, raining down on the pitted stone floor inside. The Black Knight howled. The youth whirled around, startled by the sudden noise. He saw a black shadow, and heard metal sing as it split the air.

The youth’s body staggered backwards. The Black Knight stood tall and furious in the churchyard. He held his sword in one hand, the youth’s soul in the other. It writhed in his grasp, a roiling mass of deceit, violence and malice. The Black Knight took one last look at the gaping wound in the wall of the church. As the youth’s body stumbled toward the gate, the Knight sat down to devour the soul. Such a satisfying meal, but at such a price.

* * *

The image for this story is actually the abandoned chapel at the centre of Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington, London, although the flash was inspired by the legend of the Black Knight, who is reputed to haunt the small churchyard attached to St Nicolas' Cathedral in Newcastle upon Tyne. The St Nicolas churchyard is not overgrown and the Cathedral is one of the most beautiful ecclesiastical buildings in the country, but it suited the flash better that the church be neglected, so I've taken a bit of artistic license. I'm also not sure why the Knight is stuck in the churchyard, but this made the most sense to me. It is true that someone threw a brick through the oldest window in the Cathedral, though what happened to the hooligan is anybody's guess...