In writing historical fiction, I have learned a new layer of writing skills – levels of responsibility to a world I have never known, to people I will never meet, and to a truth I can’t create as I can with my other fiction.
In his book on the sinking of the Titanic, Allan Wolf articulates it this way.
“In order to write The Watch that Ends the Night, I’ve allowed fancy to play within the confines of fact. When it comes to historical fiction, history is the birdcage; fiction is the bird.”
This metaphor resonates with me, because I see that creating fiction (story that exists within our head without observable corroboration of fact) is very much like creating a bird – something that can fly and sing and actively participate in the world. The history is far from being as static as a bird cage, but it is the container for the thing that we want to fly. And because there is something containing it, the story is different than it would be if I wrote a story about a world that wasn’t restrained by the artifacts of the past.
I also like this bit:
“Writing a historical novel is like making soup. You spend a lot of time gathering the ingredients, but eventually you’ve got to start cooking, even if you are missing one of two spices.”
Another metaphor that fits for me, on this day when so many of my research books can not be renewed by the library. At some point I have to return those books, sidle up to the computer, and get down to revisions, even if I can’t imagine exactly the right turbine that the silk mill used, or whether the boots Catherine wears have buttons or laces. Since my last draft went off to the editor, I’ve been gathering more ingredients, more ingredients, just a few more ingredients. Now I need to dip back into the soup pot, have a taste, and start seasoning.
Story Catching 
Thoughts?