Before I came to write my first historical novel, The Lady’s Slipper, most of my writing was contemporary. I read a lot of contemporary fiction as well as historical fiction. A few years ago I would have been surprised to find I had produced a historical novel. So why write one?

The answer is that it wasn’t a case of me deciding on a period and then setting the novel there, it was more that my characters demanded certain conditions to flourish and tell their story. I started with a character who wanted to paint an orchid – I had seen the rare lady’s-slipper orchid myself and wanted to write (initially) a poem about it. This desire was subverted into my character’s desire to capture it in paint. From then on the character grew and developed. I thought for the flower to have impact I needed a time when ideas about botany and images of flowers were new and fresh. Perhaps a time before mass printing, a time when herbs and flowers were used for healing. This led me to the 17th century when herbalists such as Nicolas Culpeper were just making their mark on history and the science of botany was in its infancy. My journey into the past had begun.

Research, and the idea of the medicinal use of the lady’s-slipper then sparked the character of Margaret the herbalist, whose views on “the web of the world” were a very different religion from the conformist view of the time. I am interested in the different ways that faiths have shaped the world and this tied in nicely with the burgeoning Quaker movement, viewed in the 17th century as radical and dangerous. I couldn’t resist having a Quaker character, so Richard Wheeler was born. In addition, the Quaker movement started close to my home in Westmorland, and visits to the still surviving historical sites fascinated me. Left – Townend, a yeoman’s 17th century house close to my home.

I was also keen to exploit the enmity between two men, and needed an atmosphere of unease where people felt unsafe so that the developing plot would be credible. The English Civil War where the King had been beheaded by his own people supplied the background disturbance I needed.

So the idea of a historical setting grew organically from the characters, and their needs, and not from some idea I had about being a ‘historical novelist, ‘ or even about who my readers would be. It had nothing to do with sales, or markets, or social media. A first novel is often like that – it has a sort of innocence, despite its journey through agents, editors, re-writes and the breathless moment of its first appearance on a shelf.

A few years down the line, and I find to my surprise that I have stuck with the genre, and written five adult novels and three teen novels, all historical. I found that I love to discover new things about the past, and that forging into the research for a historical novel is an adventure all of its own. The objects and documents of the past are still available to us in galleries and museums, and the novelist’s job is to supply just enough detail in the setting, so that the reader will transform these into real environments. It is subtle, this balance – too much and the reader’s senses are overwhelmed. Too little, and the reader will not have enough fuel to imagine the scene. The more work the reader does – the more the novel is his own construct – the deeper will be the immersive experience.

Recently I have heard that the rights for my first novel, The Lady’s Slipper, will be returning to me. Mindful of some of the reader reviews, I looked over the novel to see if I wanted to change it. I was surprised to find I didn’t. Yes, it has flaws, like all creative works, but reading it took me back to my sheer delight at being able to convey the world of the past through words. This enthusiasm seems to shine through behind the text. And, if I change it, it will no longer be a marker for me – a visible sign that my writing has matured. I know more now; about language and plot, and how to structure a book. Since producing it, I have read books on writing, blogs on editing, endless articles on hooks, teasers and break-outs. But all of these are technical, and cannot replace the sheer momentum of a good story, and the fresh passion for writing history that I had just discovered.

So although I could choose to ‘improve’ the novel, I risk losing something by doing so – that barely discernible excitement that I found through discovering my metier and means of expression.