​Biographical historical fiction is a genre that dramatizes the lives of real historical figures by blending factual biographical elements with fictional storytelling.
These novels are based on real people, events, and settings but often invent dialogue, internal thoughts, and specific events to create a more compelling narrative. The goal is to offer a deeper, creative understanding of a person's life and the historical context in which they lived.
 
It’s no coincidence that some of my favourite books have fallen within this genre. 
I’ll only mention three, although I ccould easily list another ten. You will have your own favourite. Here are mine:
 

• I, Claudius by Robert Graves: An imagined memoir of the Roman Emperor Claudius.
• Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier: A fictional story about the model for the famous painting. 

• Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel: A novel focusing on Thomas Cromwell's rise to power in the court of Henry VIII.

So, why write in this genre? I believe it’s subjective. Now, having completed my sixth novel of this kind, I can affirm that there were four fundamental reasons for me:
First, I like to vary my writing genres to keep fresh. That’s dealt with!
Second, I felt that there are historic figures who have been too neglected.
Third, the most important, so far… It’s fun and instructive to research these figures.
Four, the gender issue. In a male-dominated world, it’s helpful that writers choose strong female protagonists and inform readers about them. 
The people I chose and why for my series Fascinating Lives.
First, Aeneas Piccolomini, who later became Pope Pius II (Book 1 Pigsty to Papacy). I visited the Piccolomini library in Siena Cathedral. The artwork takes your breath away. There’s a cycle of frescoes about his life. Okay he was a pope, but he was a bit of a lad when he was younger. A great orator and humanist, he was well ahead of his times.
Second, Leonardo Fibonacci (Book 2 The Spiral Path). Until he came along, medieval traders were still using the abacus and Roman numerals. Imagine that for accounting! When he was little, he was already a mathematical prodigy. His father took him to North Africa. There, he absorbed Arab culture and saw the benefits of the numbers we all use today. He fought in Iberia, returned and risked the wrath of the Church by revealing the geometric proportions behind Creation.
Third, the first of the women: Fatima al-Fihri (Book 3 The Light that Awakens) The brave woman who founded the world’s first university in Fez (present-day Morocco). She wanted accessible education for the poor, for women, for everybody!
Four, another woman, the inspiration behind an eighteenth-century French novel Turandot and subsequently, Puccini’s opera of the same name. (Book 4 Daughter of the Steppes) she was the Mongol princess, Khutulun, who could defeat any man at wrestling and refused to marry anyone except for the man who could beat her. 
Five, soon to be published…Harald Fairhair, the Norwegian who first united the whole of Norway (Book 5 Valkyrie Nights). A great warrior, he had a number of sons by different wives and concubines but made the mistake of not nominating his favourite, Eirik Bloodaxe early enough.
Six, only just completed, the early-Renaissance figure Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, in arte Donatello, the fantastic sculptor, who helped give impetus to the Renaissance in Florence and Padua. (Book 6 The Weight of Beauty),

​When we think of the Anglo-Saxons, we often imagine warriors in battle, the clang of swords and shields, or harpists and sagas in a smoky hall. But what about the quieter moments—the everyday lives of these people, their homes, and, of course, their clothes? In a world without modern fabrics or fast fashion, the clothes they wore were an important marker of identity, status, and function.
Anglo-Saxon clothing is an intriguing blend of practicality and artistry, woven from the threads of tradition, climate, and culture. Whether you were a farmer, a noble, or a warrior, what you wore in Anglo-Saxon England wasn’t just about keeping warm—it was a reflection of who you were, where you came from, and even what you believed.
At the heart of Anglo-Saxon clothing was wool. Wool was abundant in Britain, and the Anglo-Saxons were expert weavers, spinning their own yarn and crafting it into garments suitable for every season. Wool’s insulating properties made it ideal for the variable English weather, keeping people warm in winter and cool during summer. Linen, made from flax, was another material, though it was less common and typically reserved for wealthier individuals.
The rich hues of the clothes we imagine in Anglo-Saxon society didn’t come from vibrant dyes but were often achieved through natural sources: woad for blue, madder for red, and various plant-based dyes for yellows and greens. This was a time before synthetic dyes, so colours were often muted yet earthy, blending seamlessly with the natural landscape of forests, fields, and the coastline.
For the majority of the Anglo-Saxon population—farmers, traders, and labourers—clothing was about utility and protection. A typical outfit for a man might have consisted of a simple tunic made from wool or linen, extending to the knees or sometimes even the ankles. The tunic was often belted at the waist with a leather or woven belt, and woollen socks or leg wraps (called "puttees") covered the lower legs.
Women of the common folk wore similar styles: a long, loose-fitting dress made of wool or linen, with a girdle at the waist. Over this, a woollen cloak, fastened with a brooch, would be draped across their shoulders for warmth. The garments, though functional, had simple beauty in their cuts and natural fibres. Sometimes, a woman would wear a headscarf or veil to cover her hair, a reflection of the modesty expected in Anglo-Saxon culture.
Shoes, often made from leather, were relatively simple. They were designed to be functional rather than fashionable, though some could be decorated with patterns or embroidery. Leather footwear kept the feet protected from the harsh English terrain.
For the wealthier classes—landowners, the nobility, and kings—clothing was not just a necessity but an expression of wealth and status. The materials used by the upper classes were far more luxurious: silk, imported from the East, and fine woollen cloths dyed in rich, vibrant colours like purple, red, and gold. The tunics worn by the wealthy were often elaborately embroidered, with intricate patterns or symbols denoting rank, heritage, or personal accomplishments.
Noblemen often wore longer, more tailored tunics, with cloaks made of high-quality wool or even fur to keep them warm during colder months. The cloak was fastened with ornate brooches made from silver, bronze, or sometimes even gold. They might have also worn belts adorned with decorative buckles, each one an indication of their wealth and importance.
Women of the elite also wore long, flowing gowns made from finer fabrics, often with woven patterns or embroidery along the hems. Over the gown, they might wear a long-sleeved tunic or a mantle, a draped garment that added an air of elegance and formality. Jewellery—rings, necklaces, and brooches—was not just decorative but symbolic, signifying a woman’s social standing.
In terms of footwear, wealthier individuals might wear boots or shoes made of higher-quality leather or even decorated with precious stones or intricate designs. Silk stockings were not uncommon, especially for those who could afford them.
No discussion of Anglo-Saxon clothing would be complete without acknowledging the warriors who played such a central role in Anglo-Saxon society. The warriors of this period—men who fought in the name of their king and tribe—dressed for battle in a way that reflected their role as both protectors and symbols of power.
Anglo-Saxon armour was made up of several key components. The most iconic piece was the chainmail, worn by noble warriors or those with the means to afford it. This armour was made of interlocking rings of metal, providing a flexible yet effective defence against blows from swords, axes, and arrows. The mail shirt would be worn over a tunic and secured with a belt at the waist. On the head, a simple helmet with a nose guard might be worn, often decorated with intricate designs.
For those not wealthy enough to afford chainmail, the most common form of protection would have been a leather tunic, sometimes padded with layers of cloth to absorb impact. A wooden or iron shield was also a crucial part of a warrior's attire, decorated with symbolic motifs that could represent the warrior’s lineage or their allegiance to a particular king or tribe.
The clothes of the warrior were functional and symbolic, often accentuated by the addition of a cloak or cape to mark their status as a protector and fighter. These warriors often carried weapons—swords, axes, and spears—which, like their clothing, were a reflection of their standing in society.
Anglo-Saxon clothing wasn’t just about warmth, utility, or style—it was also deeply connected to religious practices. The Anglo-Saxons, before converting to Christianity, had a rich pagan tradition, and the symbols on their clothing reflected this. Early Anglo-Saxon garments might have included talismans or pendants depicting pagan gods, animals, or mystical creatures. After conversion, Christian symbols began to appear more frequently—crosses, saints, and biblical figures became part of embroidery or jewellery, symbolizing the wearer’s faith.
Priests and monks, as expected, wore garments that were quite different from those of the lay population. Robes made of simple linen or wool, often dyed in muted colours, were standard. A crosier—a ceremonial staff—might be held by high-ranking church officials, and robes would often feature Christian symbols woven into the fabric. Anglo-Saxon clothing was about more than just keeping warm or looking stylish—it was a reflection of the wearer’s life and position within society. Whether you were a humble farmer, a proud warrior, or a wealthy noble, your clothing told a story. It spoke of your wealth, your occupation, and your beliefs. The natural fibres, intricate designs, and symbolic adornments woven into these garments were like threads in a much larger tapestry, each piece contributing to the rich, colourful history of Anglo-Saxon England.
As we look at the artefacts and remains of Anglo-Saxon clothing today, we can still feel a connection to this past. Each stitch, each piece of fabric, tells a story of a people who were resourceful, proud, and deeply connected to their land, their faith, and their traditions. It’s a glimpse into a world that, in many ways, was much simpler but also deeply rich in meaning.
So next time you think about the Anglo-Saxons, don’t just picture the battles and the sagas. Imagine the textures of their tunics, the warmth of their woollen cloaks, and the way they dressed not just to survive, but to express who they were. Their clothes, like their culture, were woven with care, history, and purpose.

​After totalling something around fifty novels, I can say with certainty that the worst thing about being an author as far as I’m concerned, is being obliged to write a synopsis. I understand that it’s most important for an editor but I find it so tedious.
How to go about it in the best way brings me to the old chestnut of Plotter vs Pantser. I’m sure the Plotter is advantaged here because he has a structure worked out that must be quite easy to refer to and synthesise. That was the case with my first few novels until I shook off the draughtsman-like sheet of paper with all thirty (or however many) chapters neatly laid out. Having removed the shackles and become a confirmed Pantser, the approach to synopsis writing required structuring.
 
I began by grabbing a sheet of A3 and ruling columns with chapter numbers atop. This silly idea survived for three or four novels but, apart from containing an inherent weakness (me), it also was a superfluous intermediary step. Far better to open a Word document entitled ‘synopsis’ and write a few lines of chapter summary as soon as the chapter was finished. In that way, one builds the synopsis chapter by chapter while each is fresh in the mind. Still, importantly, you have to keep in mind that you’re providing an overview rather than a blow-by-blow account. But here’s the snag: after writing a 2500-word chapter in a day, I feel mentally and physically exhausted and not in the least like writing even six lines of chapter summary. So, the tendency is to say, oh, I’ll leave it for another day. All very well, but the result is a completed 20-chapter novel and not even a hint of a synopsis.
 
In turn, that means going back to page 1, reading the whole chapter and so on, maybe over a period of days until the whole synopsis is complete. Compared to this fatigue, writing the novel in the first place is a doddle!
 
The actual technicalities of synopsis writing involve you writing in the third person, using the present tense, regardless of what POV or tense the book is written in. Also, you should put the first occurrence of each character’s name in all caps so they can easily be picked out as the reader skims the page. You have pages and pages to introduce characters, setting, and conflict in the actual novel, but you’re going to have to pick out what’s essential and present the bare facts here.
 
Your synopsis is a functional outline of your story’s plot – it isn’t the blurb on the back of your book, and therefore isn’t meant to act as an end-user sales piece. Teasing the twists and turns and speaking directly to the reader aren’t techniques that fit well, here. Leave out any details or subplots that aren’t essential to the main narrative and tick off a direct and professional method of revealing your story’s structure. 
 
This is also important, when you’ve finished the synopsis, read it through to make sure that you haven’t inadvertently left any plot holes, which may not be there in the actual novel. Also, making sure you’ve made your character arcs quite clear is necessary.
Trim as many words as you can. Use descriptive phrases sparingly, and choose words that carry weight instead of writing waffly fillers. Despite this, my synopses vary from two to three pages. Ideally, a page and a half is sensible target to aim for. So, I know I can improve.

​On prevarication and prefixes.
 
Prevarication is an author’s bane and although I’m not really a ‘prevaricator’ (and yes, that word exists) I recognise that it comes in many forms ranging from ‘I must just slip out to the shops; I’ll make myself a coffee; must walk the dog and so on. One of my favourite forms of prevarication comes from curiosity about the language itself, but perhaps, on reflection, it’s more an obsessive disorder. It happens when I select a word from our extensive range of vocabulary and then begin to wonder about the etymology. It truncates my current flow until I’ve sorted it. It’s a tyrant of my own making! The most recent occurrence was with the prefix be-. You won’t begrudge me bemoaning (or bewailing) how it paralysed my writing until I’d got to the bottom of it. I’m bespectacled as I write this, by the way.
 
It appears that its most common meaning is “around” or “on all sides,” as in the words bejewel, meaning to cover with jewels, bespatter, meaning to spatter on all sides, and besiege, meaning to surround a location during a siege. This is also the sense we see in bewildered, which figuratively means to be lost in or surrounded by a mental wilderness.
But the prefix be- can also do many other things as well. It can be privative, which means it
removes or deprives you of something, as in the word behead.
It can be causative, as in the word befuddle. “Fuddle” was a 16th c. verb meaning “to get
drunk,” so to befuddle originally meant to cause someone to be confused by getting them
drunk.
The be- prefix is sometimes used for effect or intensification, as in the word bedraggle.
“Draggle” is a 16th century word that means “to make something wet and muddy,” so
“bedraggle” more or less the same thing, but making it extra wet and muddy.
This prefix can create transitive verbs, as in bewail, which means to loudly complain about
something. The prefix turns “wail” from an intransitive verb—one that doesn’t need an
object—to a transitive verb, which does need an object. So I can just wail, or I can bewail
an unfortunate circumstance.
This is also what’s happening in the word begrudge: Grudge was originally a verb, and it
meant “to grumble or murmur in complaint” (originally the imitative grutch, from the
Middle English grucchen).
So if to “grudge” is to grumble, then the transitive form in “I begrudge you your success”
means that your success causes me to grumble.
Be- words were immensely popular in the 15th- and 16th-century. Some of fantastic
examples that are no longer in use include…
bethwack “thrash soundly”  betongue “verbally thrash someone”
befool “make a fool of” beshrew, meaning “deprave, pervert or corrupt”
It is also privative in the word bemused, which means “puzzled or confused.” The base
word here is “muse” in the sense of musing or pondering something, so to be amused
literally means that something is holding your attention and interesting to you, causing
you to muse about it, and therefore to be bemused is literally to have your ability to muse
or think about a subject taken away by confusion.
 
In writing this, I have freely drawn on an informative blog by Jess Zafarris, who is the author of Once Upon a Word: A Word-Origin Dictionary for Kids. She is also an award-winning innovator of digital content and marketing solutions and a prolific online and print journalist. I can heartily recommend her content to anyone interested.

When we think about Anglo-Saxon life—those ancient people who lived in England from roughly the 5th to the 11th centuries—we often picture the swords, shields, and thatched-roof houses. But what about the simpler, everyday details of their existence? More specifically: What did they eat and drink? While this subject may not evoke as much excitement as a heroic battle or a legendary king, it reveals a lot about Anglo-Saxon society, their values, and the way they connected with the land.
So, let’s take a bite of history and uncover the tastes and textures of Anglo-Saxon food and drink, which were as practical and essential as their war tactics and poetry.
The Heart of the Anglo-Saxon Diet: Bread, Grains, and Porridge
The foundation of any Anglo-Saxon meal was likely some form of bread or grain-based food. Barley, wheat, and oats were the staples of their diet, and most of these were ground into flour and mixed with water to create loaves or gruels. The Anglo-Saxons weren’t baking baguettes or croissants, but rather dense, rustic bread that would have been hearty enough to sustain them during their labour-intensive days.
Gruel made from oats or barley was another common food. It was often boiled with water or milk, sometimes sweetened with honey or flavoured with fruits or berries if they were in season. Eating gruel for breakfast was probably a regular tradition, as it was filling, cheap, and easy to prepare.
But it wasn’t just about the bread and gruel. The Anglo-Saxons were resourceful, making use of what they could cultivate and forage. Lentils, beans, and peas were common additions to their meals, often used in stews or as side dishes.
Meat and Fish: The Luxuries of the Anglo-Saxon Table
For the Anglo-Saxons, meat wasn’t something you ate every day—unless you were wealthy, of course. Hunting was a common practice, with wild boar, deer, and hares making their way onto the table of therich and powerful. Common folk could usually get their hands on pigs, sheep, and hens. Meat was often roasted or boiled, and it was typically accompanied by vegetables, herbs, and sometimes fruits, all cooked together in a pot.
Fish, on the other hand, played a crucial role in the Anglo-Saxon diet. England’s long coastline meant that fresh fish was readily available, and rivers and lakes offered plenty of freshwater fish, especially eels. Salted or dried fish was also a common preservation method, ensuring they had a protein source during the colder months when fresh fish wasn’t as abundant. Herring, salmon, and eel were favourites.
Vegetables and Fruits: Nature’s Bounty
While the Anglo-Saxons weren’t known for an extravagant use of vegetables, they certainly made the most of what they could grow. Cabbage, leeks, onions, carrots, and turnips were some of the basic vegetables that found their way into stews or were roasted with meats. These vegetables were often paired with herbs and spices like parsley, thyme, and dill.
Fruits, though often preserved through drying or preservation in honey, included apples, plums, and berries. They would be eaten fresh when in season or stored for the long winter months. Apples, especially, had both a practical and symbolic significance, as they were used in religious rituals as well as in everyday meals. They would be suspended from beams in a small net over th winter.
Dairy: The Anglo-Saxon Love Affair with Cheese
Dairy products, especially cheese, were incredibly popular in Anglo-Saxon cookery. Most Anglo-Saxon families would have kept cows or goats, meaning fresh milk, butter, and cheese were regularly available. Cheese was made from curdled milk, and its texture varied, from soft and creamy to harder, more aged varieties.
Cheese was often paired with bread, fruits, or even with meat and vegetables in stews. It was a handy source of protein and fat, perfect for filling the stomach after a long day’s work in the fields or on a winter’s evening by the hearth.
Beverages: Mead, Ale, and Cider
When it came to beverages, the Anglo-Saxons fermented honey, water, and sometimes fruit or herbs, for mead, which was a favourite drink for both the upper and lower classes. It was often consumed during feasts and celebrations, and it’s easy to imagine Anglo-Saxon warriors raising their horns to toast a victorious battle.
Ale, brewed from barley and flavored with herbs like gruit (a blend of herbs used before hops became popular), was another staple. Beer-like in nature, ale was consumed daily, especially by those in the lower classes. A modest home would have had a small brewing vat to make their own, and it would have been part of the daily diet alongside bread and cheese.
Cider was also a popular drink, particularly in areas with apple orchards. It wasn't as refined as modern cider, but it was an accessible and refreshing beverage for all classes.
Sweet Delights: Honey and Fruit
Before sugar became widely available in medieval Europe, honey was the go-to sweetener for many cultures, including the Anglo-Saxons. It was used not only in mead but also in cooking, added to breads, or drizzled over fruits to create simple desserts. Dried fruits, particularly imported raisins, figs, and apples, would have been sweet treats for those with a bit of extra wealth.
Feasting and the Role of Food in Anglo-Saxon Society
Food in Anglo-Saxon England wasn’t just about sustenance—it was a vital part of social life. Feasts were important occasions, often linked to religious observances, celebrations of military victories, or the coronation of kings. The wealthy would host grand banquets with roasted meats, including swan, cheeses, fruits, and ale. These feasts also had a social and political role, reinforcing alliances, cementing hierarchies, and showcasing the host’s wealth and status.
Conclusion: A Taste of History
While the Anglo-Saxons didn’t have the variety of ingredients and culinary techniques that we enjoy today, their food was a reflection of their close relationship with the land. They worked hard to cultivate their crops, raise their animals, and preserve their food for the long winters. The simplicity of their meals—grains, meat, vegetables, and mead—may seem humble compared to modern-day dishes, but it was nourishing, practical, and shaped by their environment.
So, the next time you sit down for a meal, take a moment to reflect on the food traditions that came before us. The Anglo-Saxons may not have had the luxury of spices from the East or access to exotic fruits, but what they did have was a strong connection to the land and a culinary creativity that sustained them through centuries of change. Their food, simple as it may seem, was their story. And maybe it’s a story worth savouring.

A few hundred yards from the home where I grew up stands the Church of Old Clee in NE Lindsey. Part of the structure is Anglo-Saxon and, just staring at those venerable stones in the tower brought shivers down my spine. How many centuries have gone by and what happy and sorrowful occasions have they presided over!
Consider that dotted throughout England there are many such examples, indeed, there are a handful of complete Anglo-Saxon churches that have survived wars and revolutions. 
Echoes of the Past: Why Anglo-Saxon History Still Matters Today
In an age dominated by digital technology and global connectivity, the relevance of ancient history might not seem obvious. Yet, the legacy of the Anglo-Saxons—those early medieval peoples who inhabited what is now England between the 5th and 11th centuries—continues to shape our world in profound and often overlooked ways.
1. Language and Literature
Perhaps the most direct legacy of the Anglo-Saxons is the English language itself. Old English, the language spoken by the Anglo-Saxons, forms the bedrock of modern English. Words like house, mother, strong, and water have Anglo-Saxon roots. The rhythm, syntax, and foundational vocabulary of English are all steeped in this early linguistic tradition. Some of our juiciest vocabulary is pure Anglo-Saxon; but those words are not fitting here!
Beyond the language, Anglo-Saxon literature offers timeless insights into human experience. Beowulf, the most famous Old English poem, still resonates with readers today through its exploration of heroism, mortality, leadership, and loyalty. These themes are universal and continue to inform modern storytelling in literature, film, and television.
2. Legal and Political Foundations
Many principles of modern law and governance in the UK and other English-speaking nations can be traced to Anglo-Saxon systems. The witan, a council of nobles and clergy who advised the king, was an early form of parliamentary assembly. Anglo-Saxon law codes, though rudimentary, introduced ideas such as compensation for wrongdoing (wergild) and the value of consensus in community decisions.
These early legal frameworks evolved over centuries into the common law systems still in use today, forming the backbone of judicial structures in countries from England to the United States.
3. Place Names and Geography
Take a drive through the English countryside and you’ll encounter names like Birmingham, Reading, or Nottingham—many of which originate from Anglo-Saxon words. The suffixes -ham (homestead), -ton (town), and -ing (people or followers) all reflect the tribal and familial settlements of the time. Understanding these names not only enriches our appreciation of local history but also connects us to the way communities were established and organized over a thousand years ago.
4. Cultural Identity and Continuity
In recent years, there has been renewed interest in local and regional identities—something the Anglo-Saxons emphasized through their kinship-based societies and localised governance. Studying how they navigated identity, migration, and assimilation provides valuable context for current discussions about culture, heritage, and belonging.
However, it’s also important to acknowledge and challenge the ways in which Anglo-Saxon history has been misused. Some nationalist and extremist groups have attempted to co-opt this past to support exclusionary ideologies. Responsible engagement with Anglo-Saxon history requires a nuanced understanding that recognizes both its richness and its complexity, resisting attempts to simplify or weaponise it.
5. Art, Design, and Spirituality
The intricate designs found in Anglo-Saxon artifacts—like those discovered at Sutton Hoo—continue to inspire modern artists and designers. The fusion of pagan and Christian symbolism, the stylised animal motifs, and the sophisticated metalwork reveal a deep cultural creativity that defies the stereotype of the so-called “Dark Ages.”
In spirituality and philosophy, the blending of old Norse and Christian beliefs during the Anglo-Saxon period offers a window into how societies adapt to change and seek meaning in transition. As modern societies grapple with rapid transformation, these historical insights offer a reflective mirror.
Conclusion
The Anglo-Saxon world may be over a millennium removed from ours, but its influence is deeply woven into the fabric of contemporary life. From language and law to identity and art, the echoes of that early medieval age continue to shape who we are. Engaging with Anglo-Saxon history isn't about living in the past—it's about understanding the foundations of the present and imagining a more informed future.

I began writing a mystery novel to freshen up and not get caught in a genre trap. Previously all my novels had been historical fiction set in the Anglo-Saxon period. I was quite clear that the Quasimodo Killings was a mystery novel, but having written another nine in the series, the distinction between mystery and thriller became a little blurred. So, I’ve decided to give some thought to this in this blog. Before I start, you can see my ten books by clicking the METROPOLITAN MURDERS tag on this website.
 
For writers eager to dive into suspenseful storytelling, mystery novels and thrillers are two of the most compelling—and marketable—genres out there. But while they share some similarities, understanding their core differences is essential for crafting a story that meets reader expectations and stands out in a crowded field.
Whether you're outlining your first manuscript or revising your fifth, knowing whether you're writing a mystery or a thriller will shape everything from plot structure to pacing and tone. Let’s break it down.
The Heart of a Mystery: Solving the Puzzle
A mystery novel revolves around uncovering the truth. Usually, a crime—most commonly a murder—has already occurred before the story begins, and your protagonist (often a detective or amateur sleuth) spends the book putting the pieces together.
The plot is structured around clues, red herrings, interviews, and logical deduction. The key question driving the story is: "Whodunit?" The reader should feel like a partner to the protagonist, gathering evidence and forming theories along the way.
As a writer, this means carefully plotting the sequence of clues and ensuring the solution is both surprising and fair. Think of Agatha Christie—master of subtle misdirection and satisfying reveals.
The Pulse of a Thriller: Escalating Danger
Thrillers, in contrast, are about immediate stakes and looming threats. Your protagonist is usually trying to prevent something terrible from happening, often while being pursued or endangered themselves. The central question becomes: "Will they survive or succeed in time?"
Instead of looking backward at a crime, thrillers propel the reader forward through action, tension, and ticking clocks. Think car chases, hidden enemies, double-crosses, and mounting urgency. Writers like Karin Slaughter, or Paula Hawkins are great references here.
From a writing perspective, thrillers demand tight pacing, visceral conflict, and high emotional stakes. Every chapter should raise the tension, making it hard for readers to put the book down.
Now I’ve got that sorted, I can see more clearly that at least one of my ‘mysteries’ morphed into a thriller! Still, I’m quite pleased with it and hope that readers will enjoy it.

Mystery vs
Thriller
Story Engine
Solving a past crime vs
Preventing or surviving an imminent threat

Plot Structure
Clue-based; reveals build to the solution vs
Escalating action; often nonlinear or urgent

Main Character's Role
Detective, investigator, or curious amateur vs
Hero, often reluctant, in immediate danger

Reader's Experience
Analytical, puzzle-solving vs
Emotional, edge-of-your-seat suspense

Tone
Intellectual, curious vs
Fast-paced, intense

 
Final Thoughts
Whether you prefer the intellectual challenge of piecing together clues in a mystery or the adrenaline rush of a high-stakes thriller, both genres offer compelling explorations of human behaviour under pressure. The key difference lies in the direction of the suspense: looking backward to solve a puzzle, or forward to prevent disaster. Either way, hopefully, you're in for a riveting ride.

Sometimes a preface to your historical novel seems essential, but so often it can become a dumping ground for a backdrop. So why not freshen it up with an original and eye-catching approach that keeps the readers interested from the off? 
Here’s a suggestion: your protagonist begins Chapter One with a first-person account of why she’s in her current predicament. But, then, you don’t want to write the entire novel in first person, so during this brief monologue she delegates a chronicler, whose task is to give a third-person account of her activities. Fine, but that doesn’t exclude the omniscient third-person narrator, who will explain that the protagonist wants to read, say, the third entry on such and such a date.
In this way, you keep your narration fresh by subtly shifting P-o-V whenever you want and, huge bonus, you have done away with the Preface and begun Chapter One right from the start without sacrificing essential backdrop.
That was my latest experiment, but I can think of several variations on this theme. Talking about themes, I’ve always felt it essential to make the novel’s theme(s) clear in Chapter One. So that can also be included in a natural way by your protagonist (or narrator). 
Who better than your chronicler to describe your protagonist? After all, they have a close working relationship/friendship.
In my 40+ novels I think I’ve used a Preface three times, so maybe I can be accused of bias. I’m not keen on Prefaces, but can accept that when skilfully written by an expert writer they can be effective. But let’s be honest, how many times have we yawned through a Preface and wished we hadn’t chosen this book? I know at least one other who simply ignores the Prefce...but that's a pity.
If you are a Preface fan, please write to me and tell me why and how a novel gains from having one. I’d genuinely like to know. In my three exceptions it was because I couldn’t find the kind of creative alternative I’ve outlined above. Thanks for reading this far. JB.

What happens when a writer changes genre? Are readers confused? 
As I see it, there are pros and cons. At my last count, I have two main genres but have broken away several times. Let’s see…a definite pro is freshening up. You get out of a rut and can’t be labelled or pigeon-holed. You explore your versatility. A definite con, in my case, is that I set up a website entirely devoted to Anglo-Saxon historical novels. Whoops! I tried my hand at Mystery/Thrillers with my 9 Metropolitan Murder Mysteries. So, I had to add a page to my website with that title. I also had to open a fresh Facebook page dedicated to them and modify the title to Metropolitan Murders and More. 
 
Is it a question of self-discipline? A dear friend was always rattling on about how aliens created us, not God and that they, the Annunaki, would also bring the world to an end. The temptation was too great, so I wrote my apocalyptic novel, The Remnant. It’s hardly Anglo-Saxon history, is it?
 
While I’m on the cons, which I see are becoming heavier by the minute, my latest ventures have been with more recent historical-fantasy novels. First, inspired by the region where I live, I wrote The Aspromonte Riddle – oh, it’s Calabria in Southern Italy, by the way. Then, yesterday, I finished my latest venture set in Renaissance Italy. Am I writing this blog in the midst of an existentialist crisis?
I have now produced 50 novels, so I admit to being prolific. But are chameleons visible or do they camouflage? Should I have stuck to my first love… Anglo-Saxon novels?
 
To answer this question, I think I have to look at a writing hero of mine—Ken Follett. This writer first attracted me with his medieval books…The Pillars of the Earth and World Without End. Now then, how do we pigeon-hole him? He wrote his World War II novels and they’re brilliant, but not medieval. Then, he wrote such titles as The Modigliani Scandal and Code to Zero. Take a look at his bibliography, it’s all over the place and they’re all good. Now, I’m not jumping on his bandwagon, far be it from my modest self! He’s a great writer, but he didn’t have problems changing genre. What can I conclude? Well, if he can be versatile, so can we all. 
 
However, changing genre does mean you’ll have to adapt your brand image. I’ve remained with my logo because as I said above, Anglo-Saxon history is my first love, but frankly, my mysteries sell better and I’m free of the pesky (but enjoyable) research that historical novel writing necessitates. Conclusion? Throw off the shackles, but be prepared to sit, head bowed, wondering what the devil do I do next?

I have just finished my unpublished historical/fantasy novel about Caledonia. I enjoyed mingling historical fact with fantastical fiction. It's ​AD 83 – 212, three generations of Caledonian chieftains contend with intertribal rivalries, Roman incursions and harsh climatic conditions. To safeguard the land, they must respect the old gods and follow the teachings of the druids. Lachlan follows in the footsteps of his father, Calgacus and becomes a hero in his own right, surpassed only by his son, Arawn. By obeying the gods and seeking the relics of power, he is able to expel the Romans from Caledonia forever with the aid of ancient magic and above all his courage and determination. Here is n extract from chapter 10 when Lachlan meets the Celtic Moon Goddess.

​After a couple of days, Lachlan decided to set off into the wilderness alone. He made the familiar cross-country hike to the Chief Druid’s cavern, where he explained what had happened to the village of Britons. “So, you see, Master, I can only obtain justice and revenge by moving astutely.”
“Lachlan, I see that you have put your years of learning here to good purpose. You operate with wisdom. It’s almost dusk, let’s stroll together to the sacred grove and under the oak branches, I’ll call upon the Moon Goddess. I feel sure she will answer your prayers. Tonight, the moon is full. You have come at a propitious time.”
Standing before the majestic oak, the Chief Druid put his hand on Lachlan’s head and pressed down gently, “Kneel, and pray!” Obediently, he silently called upon Arianrhod to come and hear his tale of sorrow. 
The night deepened, and a hush fell upon the sacred grove. The moon, round and full, cast a silvery glow over the ancient trees. Lachlan knelt before the towering oak, his heart heavy with desire for vengeance and justice. The air stirred softly as if the spirits of the forest were listening.
In a low voice, the Chief Druid began to chant in the old tongue, invoking the power of Arianrhod, the Moon Goddess. The words danced on the edge of hearing, carrying ancient magic that seemed to vibrate in the very air around them. Lachlan felt a shiver run down his spine as he closed his eyes and concentrated on his deepest desires.
As the chanting reached a crescendo, a beam of silvery light streamed down from the moon above, illuminating Lachlan in an ethereal glow. The air grew still, and a sense of otherworldly presence settled over the grove. Arianrhod had heard their plea, and she had a plan to avenge the lives lost and bring justice upon the Roman legionaries and their nefarious centurion.
The radiant features of her spectral form turned to Lachlan, “Beloved of the gods, consider this.” She snapped her long fingers and a shaggy green-furred hound, the size of a small cow appeared. The ferocious beast quailed under the goddesses’ stern gaze and sat on its haunches. “Your conquest of the Darkness, Lachlan, removed much evil from the land. It brought this hideous creature to me, since for some reason it spends much time howling at the moon. It is the Cù-sìth. Here we are not far from its home, for it usually lives in a cleft in the Highland rocks, whence it roams the moors. But I have it with me in thrall. I am minded to hand its magic leash to you, who can take it to do your will. This beast is capable of hunting silently, but will occasionally let out three terrifying barks, and only three, which can be heard for miles by those listening for it, even far out at sea. Those who hear the barking of the Cù-Sìth must reach safety by the third bark or be overcome with terror to the point of death. I think that you, King Lachlan, will know how best to use its horrid powers. But as ever, there is a price to pay. You will have to give the creature something to bind it into servitude.”
“But what, Goddess?”
“You must come to the right conclusion on your own,” the enigmatic pale features broke into an irresistible smile and the ethereal figure shimmered and vanished into its own moonlight.
As the sacred grove returned to silence, Lachlan stood with tumultuous thoughts whirling in his mind; he gazed at the Cù-sìth, a fearsome creature with a powerful magic of its own. He pondered over its abilities and the goddess’ words. A price to pay, but what could it be?
At that moment, Lachlan realized that the Cù-sìth's power would be tainted by his own weakness, his own human failings. He knew that if he were to truly harness the beast’s magic, he must give it something that represented the one thing that bound him to his humanity – his love for his people. He groped in his pocket. Aye, that was it! Had not Rowan’s father given him his most prized possession out of sheer love. The hideous creature eyed the two men, it’s maw slobbering, ready to throw back its head and bark before tearing them limb from limb, but Lachlan, pressing a restraining hand on the chief Druid’s chest, stepped forward boldly, striding straight towards the monster. Three paces from the confused beast, somewhat cowed by the man’s confidence, he stopped and taking a moonstone from his purse, laid it shining on the ground among the strewn oak leaves under the fascinated stare of the curious creature. 
The colour of the moon in the sky was a pale, silvery blue, with faint beams of light dancing around the edges. It pulsed and shifted, almost translucent in its beauty. As he placed the moonstone on the ground, it seemed to intensify, casting a hypnotic glow on everything around it in exactly the same way as the moon above.
The small, round stone shimmered, catching and reflecting the moonlight. As if mesmerized, the Cù-sìth stepped forwards, its eyes fixed on the stone, placed a huge paw on it and seemed to absorb some unseen power. Lachlan, with a final glance at the goddess’ hallowed grove, turned to the now compliant beast, took its chain, and began to lead it away, followed by the grinning ancient druid.
Occasionally on the journey to his hall, the Cù-sìth would stop, bow its head, then raise it to release a full-throated howl at the moon. Lachlan stared up at the shimmering disc in the sky and noted how the soft, ethereal silver that bathed the world in its gentle light reflected in the large brown eyes of the monstrous hound. Somehow it seemed to him that the whole night was bending to their will, as if the moon herself were guiding their steps towards their goal.
As they approached the village, Lachlan ordered the beast to sit and wait for his return. He came back with Kerwin and drew the cringing Briton close to the Cù-sìth. “Tell the hound the tale of what the Romans did to your village. Do not spare any detail, however painful to you. He will hear your tale of woe, Kerwin. Tell it in the ancient tongue of your people.”
The Briton slowly gained confidence as the great, shaggy green head tilted an ear towards him. As the tale unfolded, the Cù-sìth began a low angry growling that chilled the two Celts to the marrow, but Kerwin finished his account and, Lachlan stood, placed the chain in the Briton’s hand and said, “Lead him to the fortress my friend.” Then he addressed the great hound, bravely stroking its head, “Harken, Cù-sìth! Use your magic to bring terror to those who have wronged us and bring justice to our people!” Almost as if not wishing to waste a second, the hound loped off, straining at his leash. The beast appeared to know where he was directed so that Kerwin had only to hold onto the chain, knowing that he held the power of the moon goddess Arianrhod within his grasp.
 Arrived at the gate of the fortress, the hound let out a chilling bark, and the echo of its howl filled the night air. Lachlan shuddered as he heard the second bark, and then the third. Miraculously, the malevolent sound had no effect on the Briton. Suddenly, the Roman soldiers began to drop like flies, their eyes wide with terror as they frantically searched for the source of the sound. Lachlan knew that the Roman centurion would not have been able to resist the call of the Cù-sìth, and that he, too, would have been overcome by the horrific barks. The Roman soldiers, desperate to escape the howling beast, started running for their lives, some even abandoning their weapons and armour in their haste to flee. Some senselessly ran out of the main gate, heedlessly and confusedly towards the source of the howling.
The episode was over in a matter of minutes, with the Cù-sìth's howls echoing through the fortress and the surrounding area. Lachlan watched on as the Roman soldiers left their fortifications, their faces twisted in fear and despair. The centurion, however, was nowhere to be found. Both Celts knew that the Cù-sìth would continue to search for him until his mission was complete.
As the dust settled, Lachlan considered that his accord with Arianrhod had been paid in full. The Romans would never forget the terror of that night, and the Cù-sìth would be a constant reminder of the power and strength of the Celts. Lachlan led the Cù-sìth back to the sacred grove, where he bid farewell to the beast and, kneeling, thanked Arianrhod for her guidance. As the Cù-sìth disappeared into the darkness, Lachlan felt pride and satisfaction wash over him, knowing that he had become a true king, one whose people would be protected by both human and supernatural forces. Kerwin knelt before him and said, “Sire, I am only one man, but I swear fealty to you if you will accept me among your folks.”
Lachlan smiled and imagined a world without the Romans and their upstart gods in which all the people of the island vowed allegiance to him. He sighed, knowing that he should be satisfied and grateful for what he possessed in the knowledge that the moon goddess had taught him a lesson in the delicate balance of power and sacrifice. However, this was not the end. Lachlan felt responsibility for the creature, now bound to his will. He would have to ensure that the Cù-sìth did not wreak unnecessary chaos, and, in the process, he would have to keep the gods satisfied. A bond had been forged, one that Lachlan could neither ignore nor escape.