During my junior high school years, I remember telling my mother that I just hated history. Who cared about people that died a hundred years ago and who cared what they did or said or thought?


She was a huge history buff and a lifetime member of the Smithsonian Institute, National Historical Society, and every local historical roster she could find. She went on geological digs and knew facts about different buildings and homes in the area. She had several friends who were professors at the university and traveled in intellectual and creative circles much of the time.


I figured announcing my dislike for one of her most revered subjects would start an internal family war, but instead, my mother just shook her head and told me, "No. You don't hate history; you just haven't met the right teacher yet or found the right subject to study, that's all."


I remember it like she said it yesterday, word for word.


Then when I was 14, my cousin lent me a copy of Child of the Morning, by Pauline Gedge. It’s a historical fiction based on the life of the only female Egyptian pharaoh, Hatshepsut. I read it twice before reluctantly giving it back.


It stirred the thought in my head that history is life that has already happened and generally forgotten all about; suddenly it didn’t feel right that actual people should be forgotten, as if their lives didn’t even matter. As if the struggles they faced were either won or lost for no purpose. As if their laughter and tears, their shortcomings and fears – didn’t even matter.


That was the beginning of my historical interest, but it didn't take off fully until I was in my later 30's and I began learning about Alexander the Great and how he actually ties in with Biblical facts and prophecy.


Being an avid Bible student and trusting in the accuracy of its content, I was amazed that actual, real, non-disputed historical figures were also mentioned in the pages of the Bible!

So my mother was right … I just needed that one certain subject to spark my interest!


Once the interest was there, the words I wanted to write myself came easily and the research wasn't a burden whatsoever; I gleaned more information than I could use for one book and have three more outlined in this one genre and niche alone.


Maybe part of the reason I write historical fiction is out of respect for my ancestors and my husband's ancestors - the Cherokees.


And maybe I'm into historical fiction for my mother, who always had the faith in me that I could do it.