by donalee Moulton

Start with the history, not the mystery

Before writers plot the perfect murder, they need to be as comfortable in their historical setting as well as they are in their own living room. The time period shapes everything in the story: how people talk, what they eat, how they live their lives – and how they investigate when a life ends.

Three questions dominate the journey back in time:

1. Why this specific time? What drew you in? What do you think will fascinate readers?
2. What conflicts defined this time? Political unrest, economic hardship, social upheaval—these create natural tension.
3. How did people solve crimes then? In the absence of DNA and surveillance cameras, investigations relied on observation, word of mouth, and intuition and maybe sneaking in a window to surveil a crime scene.

A historical mystery’s believability depends on accuracy. This doesn’t require reciting every historical fact—indeed, this doesn’t work—but the writer must be comfortable enough in this other world to enable characters to move through it naturally.

Choose a main character who belongs

The investigator in a historical mystery guides the reader through clues and through the era. They might be an amateur or a professional. This might be the three-hundredth crime they’ve solved or the first. It doesn’t matter; they belong here.

In historical settings, investigators often have limitations modern detectives don’t—and this goes well beyond technology. Everything from restricted travel, class barriers, rigid gender roles. These limitations can be opportunities to connect with readers. Lean into them; they nudge creativity and add tension.

The sleuth’s personality and background should also reflect the era while also offering traits—curiosity, stubbornness, empathy—that transcend time.

Research like a detective, not an archivist

If a detective needs to walk down a street in 1912 Montreal, the writer should know what that street smelled like, whether cobblestones rattled under carriage wheels, and how likely the character was to meet someone selling newspapers on the corner.

Sources for rich and authentic detail include:

• Newspapers and periodicals from the time (full of language, concerns, and advertisements)
• Diaries and letters for personal perspectives (where possible)
• Historical maps for accurate geography
• Material culture research what fabrics, foods, and objects were common

The goal is to take readers into this world by recreating it for them without overwhelming them with facts that will weigh the story down and bore readers. Instead, historical details work like seasoning, enhancing the flavour without overpowering the dish.

Layer in historical conflict

The best historical mysteries don’t just place a modern crime in an old-fashioned setting; they weave the mystery into the fabric of the time. A theft in 1920 might be tied to Prohibition smuggling. A murder in 16th-century Spain could intersect with religious persecution. These historical tensions add stakes and make the story more than a puzzle; they transform it into a lens through which readers experience the era.

Make dialogue a cornerstone

Language is one of the quickest ways to immerse readers in the past, but it’s also a common pitfall. Too much archaic phrasing can make dialogue stiff and hard to follow, while overly modern speech breaks the illusion.

The key is selective authenticity:

• Use period-appropriate vocabulary for objects, occupations, and social customs.
• Avoid slang that didn’t exist yet (dictionaries can help here).
• Keep sentence structure readable for modern audiences.

Keep pacing tight

While the past moved at a different pace, the plot shouldn’t drag. There is a need to balance richly detailed scenes with moments of action and revelation. In historical mysteries, tension often comes from the slow build. This can be delays in communication, the time it takes to travel, the risk of misinformation spreading. But every delay should raise stakes, not stall the plot.

End on a deeper note

When the mystery is solved, consider how this crime fits the morality of the era. Would a killer from a higher social class face justice? Would certain motives be more understandable, or unforgivable, back then? The ending of a historical mystery should leave readers feeling they’ve solved more than a crime, but that they’ve understood something about the world that once was.

I recently recovered from an illness caused by a stone in one of my salivary glands. This is akin to having a kidney stone but without the glamor. Instead of sympathetic friends and family saying, “Oh, no! You poor thing,” they tended to say, “huh?” I even did that myself. Before this happened, I hadn’t heard of the condition. The name of it is Sialolithiasis, but I never once tried to pronounce it. I was in enough pain as it was.

So what are the symptoms of this strange malady besides pain? My lower jaw and neck swelled up within hours and turned bright red. I looked like one of those blow-up Thanksgiving Day balloons only not as cute. I would have been the balloon everybody over the age of 12 asked who or what it represented, right before it crashed into a streetlight. I decided not to include a picture of me during this time because this is the stuff of nightmares.

After I was diagnosed, the emergency doctors decided I was a good candidate for a fairly new program that, under certain conditions, sends a patient home for care instead of being hospitalized. The hospital saves money, the patient is less likely to pick up something else in the hospital and in my case, the patient can be home with loving husband, warm fur balls, and an unlimited supply of ice cream.

Advanced Home Care is the term they use when they turn your house into a hospital. I even had to sign an affidavit swearing I wouldn’t leave the house during the allotted time. That’s the house arrest part. Once they’d set up, there was equipment everywhere. Nurses and technicians showed up whenever, drawing blood, taking my temperature, etc. I zoomed with a doctor every day on their loaned-out iPad. I had to take all required medications in front of a 24/7 “virtual nurse,” who was actually a real nurse, stationed in Texas. As I was in California, this was pretty far away. But her face was in front of me, scrutinizing my every move. I got away with nothing, not even taking my pills with coffee. “No, no, no,” she said shaking her head. “Use water, please.” It was a regimented program but a successful one.

What has this got to do with writing? Well, as we all know, we writers are never far from our craft. Or don’t like to be. My latest book, Cleopatra Almost Slept Here, debuted mid-August. Since that time, I’ve been sitting on my hands. Nothing to write. I had an idea for a new novel but couldn’t get it started. Sometimes the new story is too fresh. Sometimes you can’t let go of the previous novel, not just its creation, but the later job of getting it out there to the readers. Such was the case with me.

But back to my little stone. Whenever I’m being taken care of by healthcare workers, overworked and underpaid as they often are, one of the first things I do is learn their names. It’s not just a form of respect but yelling “hey you” when your I.V. comes loose is a little gauche. When I asked my virtual nurse’s name, she had to pronounce it several times for me and then spell it. This was because it’s a made-up family name passed on from mother to daughter. Iejoma, pronounced E- jo-ma.

Well, I loved the name. Not only was her story of how it came about fascinating, but it sprouted all kinds of ideas within me. I’d had the wisp of a character floating around in my head and this name helped solidify it. I asked Iejoma if she minded if I used her name for one of my characters and she gave me permission. Now I am unstuck. All I have to do is sit down and write an eighty-five-thousand-word novel.

Hmmm. I wish I’d phrased that last sentence better.