If there had been any doubt left about my normalcy as a writer, all lingering “hmm, maybe?”s were put to a rest yesterday.
As you are well aware, I am busy finishing my first mainstream, historic romance novel… Big deal for me. Huge.
So, I’ve been very careful about the historical accuracy of the Revolutionary War-era drama… Hedging all bets here. Don’t want to be called out on the carpet for a petticoat issue.
So, as would be expected, I have been especially careful about the real historical figures who flavor the novel. There are only two. Neither well-known, but both are legitimate, honest to Pete, factual characters…
Or at least they were.
Yeah, well, yesterday I finally got up the nerve to kick their historicity to the curb and make them my own!
Their names were changed to ones of my liking. (Who could resist plopping a Colonel Pettypool into a tale? I mean, really.)
Their ranks, their personal backgrounds and their looks were also tweaked just enough to fit their fine butts into my story with the rest of my characters.
It was so freeing!
I burned that bra and jiggled, baby!…
(Just kidding. No undergarments were set on fire. There was no jiggling. And I’m quite aware that it’s not the 1970’s, thank you.)
Anyhow, the fact that it took me nearly a whole calendar year to have the guts to fictionalize a couple of way dead dudes is way beyond normal.