Some genres within historical fiction have different balances. A mystery plot set in Victorian London can be almost entirely invented, as long as the methods of detection, social constraints, and setting are real. A war story might hew much closer to specific regiments and battles. The 'right' balance is genre-dependent, which is why it's such a fascinating topic for discussion.
The worst is when the history is just a costume party. The characters wear the dresses and say 'thee' and 'thou,' but their psychology, social dynamics, and problems are completely modern. That's not balancing; that's pasting. The invented plot should be inseparable from the period's specific mentality. How did people think about honor, God, family, duty? That's the core.
What about the ethics? When you invent dramatic flaws or heroic deeds for real people, especially recently deceased ones, it can feel icky. I think the balance there involves respect and avoiding definitive slander where the record is silent. It's one thing to imagine a king was lonely; it's another to invent that he was a secret serial killer without any historical basis.
I wonder if the pressure for 'balance' is higher now than in the past. With the internet, readers can fact-check in real time. An author in the 1950s could get away with more because verifying a minor detail meant a trip to the library. Now, a Twitter mob will form in minutes if you get a uniform button wrong. That might make authors more cautious, sometimes at the expense of narrative flair.
There's a school of thought that says all historical fiction is ultimately about the present. We use the past to talk about current issues—power, race, gender, justice. The balance, then, is in not making the analogy too blunt. Use the specifics of the past to explore universal themes, not to create a clumsy, one-to-one allegory for today's headlines. Let the readers draw their own parallels.
2026-07-22 23:34:05
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"Are you still afraid of me Medusa?" His deep voice send shivers down my spine like always. He's too close for me to ignore. Why is he doing this? He's not supposed to act this way. What the hell?
Better to be straight forward Med! I gulped down the lump formed in my throat and spoke with my stern voice trying to be confident.
"Yes, I'm scared of you, more than you can even imagine." All my confidence faded away within an instant as his soft chuckle replaced the silence.
Jerking me forward into his arms he leaned forward to whisper into my ear.
"I will kiss you, hug you and bang you so hard that you will only remember my name to sa-, moan. You will see me around a lot baby, get ready your therapy session to get rid off your fear starts now." He whispered in his deep husky voice and winked before leaving me alone dumbfounded.
Is this how your death flirts with you to Fuck your life!? There's only one thing running through my mind. Lifting my head up in a swift motion and glaring at the sky, I yelled with all my strength.
"FUC* YOU AUTHOR!"
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