There's a question I get asked almost every time someone learns what I write.
We're usually standing in a hallway at some event, or in line for coffee, and once "historical fiction author" comes up, it arrives like clockwork: How much research do you actually do?
I used to give a short answer. Now I think the honest one is more interesting — because it isn't the same every time. Sometimes it's four years. Sometimes it's a single train ride. And somewhere inside that difference is the real answer to a bigger question: how do you actually write historical fiction, from the first scrap of research all the way through to the last page?
For Growing into Greatness, the first book in my Vintage Vineyard series, I spent four years researching wine, vineyards, and the effects of Prohibition and the Great Depression on the Napa Valley. Four years — before I'd written very much of the actual story at all.
When I traveled to Napa, I fell in love with the history, the landscape, and the people. And it was the people who shaped my research the most. I was welcomed into the archives at the Napa Valley Historical Society, invited into winemakers' historic homes, vineyards, tasting rooms, and production facilities, and told story after story of the past. I was inspired by innovations born out of necessity, immersed in the daily life of grape growers and vintners, and I made some wonderful friends along the way.
That kind of research isn't quick, and it isn't tidy. But it became part of me — and it's exactly what let me write that world with confidence.
Now compare that to where I am right now.
I'm finishing Hotel Hamilton Book 5, and there's a character — a Russian immigrant woman — who needed a completely different kind of research. I spent most of that time in libraries, digging through immigration records and reading first-hand accounts and correspondence from the era. I also boarded a train bound for Toronto, just so I could imagine what it might have felt like to arrive in that city for the first time.
So even within my own books, research doesn't look the same twice. Sometimes it's four years. Sometimes it's a focused, weeks-long deep dive into one character's specific world. The story tells you how much you need.
If your own research process feels a little chaotic, you're in very good company.
Many historical fiction authors spend months — sometimes years — buried in archives, old newspapers, letters, and photographs before they ever write a single scene. Primary sources like diaries and letters are often treated as the gold standard, because they capture how people actually lived, thought, and spoke — not just what historians later decided was important.
But almost every author agrees on one thing: at some point, you have to stop researching and start writing. The research doesn't really end, though — it just changes shape. It becomes something you do alongside the draft, chasing down the one detail you need exactly when your character needs it.
Kate Quinn, author of The Alice Network and The Rose Code, has talked about spending months getting comfortable in a world before she writes a word of it. But her timeline isn't fixed — one of her novels took thirteen months to draft, another about three and a half. Research doesn't follow a formula. It follows the story.
Hazel Gaynor, author of The Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter and The Last Lifeboat, tends to start broad — understanding the larger historical moment first — before narrowing into finer detail as the story develops. For her, research isn't a hurdle to get through. It's one of her favorite parts of writing, because it's how she makes a time and place feel real enough for readers to step inside it.
Three authors. Three different rhythms — mine included. But the same underlying truth: real research, done in service of a story that needs to feel lived-in.
So if research is where so much of historical fiction actually begins, what does that mean for the writing itself?
In my experience, it comes down to a few things: knowing when your research is "enough" to start drafting, letting the story — not the research — lead once you do, and accepting that you'll keep researching in small bursts the whole way through.
I tend to approach the writing with a focus on my character's journey first, using the history to inform her thoughts, her worries, her motivations. My favorite moments are when a historical event bumps up against my fictional character in a way that makes the writing feel almost magical. And I have a particular soft spot for the smallest historical tidbits — the kind you stumble on at the exact moment your character needs them. Something as small as did they have toasters in 1927 can send you down a short, satisfying rabbit hole until you can picture exactly how that newly invented appliance worked in someone's everyday kitchen.
That's really the heart of how to write historical fiction well — not research or story, but research in service of story.
This was the moment everything clicked into place for me — and if you'd like to see how this unfolds in real time, you can watch the full episode below.
So the next time someone asks me how much research goes into a historical novel, I think the honest answer is: enough to make it true, and not so much that I never start writing. There's no single right amount. There's just the amount your story needs to feel real.
Because in the end, that's what writing historical fiction really comes down to — not how much you know before you begin, but how willing you are to keep discovering as you go.
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