Occasionally there are little blips in the historical record. Not so much nowadays when everything is tweeted about before deeds are half-done or words are half-said, but before there were deliciously maddening blind spots in time. (Delicious for the fiction writer; maddening for the historian.)
To my utter glee, I stumbled across just such an undocumented space in my research for The Hushing Days yesterday. And, as luck would have it, the blip spans the exact time and precise subject matter I’m working with.
This is tremendous news.
Why, you may ask?
The answer is quite simple.
I can fib.
Fib it up big time.
Being such a stickler for historical accuracy, I hate (loathe, detest, despise) changing facts to suit my fiction. Now, thanks to this magnificent blip, I don’t have to.
I can lie without restraint.
What devilish fun this will be!