Wordsmithing: HEMMED IN BY HISTORICAL FACT

Thursday, 17 January 2013

HEMMED IN BY HISTORICAL FACT

English Normans
by 1203 they were changing
Illustration by Glen McBeth

History is an account, mostly false, of events, mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools. ~ Ambrose Bierce

I am writing a historical MG novel.

The setting has been easiest to piece together because there are many sources full of the details -as long as what I want to know is what the great men of the day were doing.

Even in 1203, most people were getting on with the basics - survival. I looked for the wonder, and the joy, in living in those times: food, weaponry, warmth and friendships.

During research for one of my secondary characters, I found a person who, if he hadn't been murdered, possibly at the hands of the king, would have changed British history. I want to thread him into my tale. I'm having a problem. I want to use him but - if he'd lived - why wouldn't he have asserted his claim to the throne when he was old enough?

IS THERE A STRONG ENOUGH REASON FOR SOMEONE TO TURN THEIR BACK ON THEIR DESTINY?

2 comments:

dolorah18 January 2013 at 07:14
Thats an awesome premise Elaine. I think you can prove it in the MC motivations. Some people believe there are more than one timeline (destiny) for a person. This is how alternate universe's are conceived.

........dhole
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Unknown20 January 2013 at 16:08
Hi Donna
Thank you. I'm afraid I might be too much the "history graduate" to take a semi proven fact and run with it ;)
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RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

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Thursday, 17 January 2013

HEMMED IN BY HISTORICAL FACT

2 comments: