How I Balance Historical Accuracy with Storytelling in Fiction

We historical fiction writers walk a tightrope. On one side lies truth—the raw, often uncomfortable reality of the past. We'll call this historical accuracy. On the other side is story—the emotional arc that pulls readers in, makes them care, and ultimately leaves them changed. This is the fiction side of things, where we authors get to flex our creative muscles. If we lean too far in one direction, we risk either explaining history like a boring textbook that no one is interested in or telling a fantasy that doesn't align with the facts (I'm looking at you, Katherine J. Chen).

The real challenge is finding the balance.

Why Historical Accuracy Matters in Fiction

I don't write historical fiction to romanticize the past. I write to wrestle with it. To peel back centuries of varnish and get to the bone as accurately as I can. That's why I started with King David's story from the Sacred Scripture. His story was anything but romantic. But it was real.

This effort for historical accuracy when writing fiction means researching everything: battle tactics, daily rituals, food, language, theology, and political dynamics. If my knight kneels to pray, I want him to say the words someone of his station and century might have said (and not, for example, a prayer written hundreds of years later). If he fights, I want the blood, the fear, the chaos—not just cinematic choreography.

Because if I lie about the past, how can I ask my readers to trust me?

Why Story Still Comes Before Historical Accuracy

At the same time, I’m not writing a history textbook. No one picks up a novel hoping for footnotes. Maybe you hope to learn something fascinating about history while reading one of my books, but that's not often the first goal. Readers want conflict, emotion, and transformation. They want to follow a character through fire and watch him emerge, scarred but wiser.

And sometimes, that means I bend history. I might compress a timeline, invent a secondary character, or give my protagonist knowledge slightly ahead of his time—not to mislead, but to serve the deeper truth of the story.

Because fiction doesn’t work like life.

Real life often meanders; good stories don’t have that luxury.

Where I Draw the Line When Writing Fiction

So where do I draw the line? For me, it’s when a change breaks the soul of the period. I won’t give a medieval character 21st-century morals just to make them relatable—just take a look at Hendry. I won’t ignore the brutality of religious war (looking at you again, Kind David), or the ugliness of class systems, or the theological debates that shaped nations.

Instead, I try to make my characters believable within their world. I let their faith feel lived-in, not pasted on. I let their doubts surface naturally. I let violence have consequences.

Even if it’s gritty. Even if it makes people uncomfortable.

A Covenant with the Reader

At the end of the day, writing historical fiction—whether it's Christian Fiction like David, or Christian-adjacent like The Knight from Nowhere—feels almost like a covenant. I want to honor the past, not sanitize it. I want to tell stories that reflect the full weight of sin and the full scope of grace. I want my readers to feel like they were there—not in some Hollywood version of history, but in the dirt and blood and prayer of it.

So yes, I do my research. Yes, I stay as accurate as I can. But I also tell a story—one worth following, one that stirs the soul. That, to me, is the heart of the craft.