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| At Bear Pond Books, Montpelier | 
One of the author/librarian discussion lists that I read daily has  recently focused on well-tested historical fiction: that is, the kind  where the history involved is "true." I wish the word had been "honest"  instead, because history -- unlike the impression many of us get in  elementary school -- doesn't ever come in just one "right" version. It  comes with many points of view, many experiences.
Just as an example, consider the building of the great railroads that crossed the United States in the 1800s, including the 
Canadian Pacific Railway.  I've been doing some research the CPR lately, because a student in a  nearby town just pulled together nearly a hundred letters exchanged by  her family members in the 1870s, and two of the letter authors worked on  the railroad -- one on its construction, the other (it appears) as a  low-level manager for a bit. And in one of those "coincidences" that  happen a lot to writers, my husband and I enjoyed dinner last night with  another couple, who brought up a place I'd never before heard of: 
Revelstoke, British Columbia.  Our friend is going there to ski, and mentioned that the Canada  government is promoting the little city as a destination for tourists  and athletes. It's halfway between Vancouver (which is on the west coast  of Canada) and Calgary, Alberta (another major Canadian city). And  within half an hour of starting to explore the city's history, I  realized it's had a constant relationship with the CPR. Now that it's a  "destination" for play as well as work, the connection with the railroad  is more important again!
But what is the "history" of  the CPR -- and of Revelstoke? Is it the experience of railroad workers,  many of them immigrants laboring for less money than appropriate, dying  of overwork and disease and homesickness? Is it the exhilaration of  explorers and entrepreneurs, of investors -- back then, and now -- eager  to see commerce develop from their efforts? Is it the flushed happiness  of a skier, exploring a massive mountain cloaked with shimmering snow?  And where are the echoes of people who knew the landscapes crossed by  the railroad, long before metals were worked in North America?
Good  historical fiction gives us room to choose a few of those strands and  pair them with stories of the hearts and minds of characters. And  although we call those characters fictional -- the least "real" of all  the strands being woven into the tapestry of a novel -- they too have  meaning. I know they reflect me, as well as the people I've come to know  and appreciate. When the effort of writing results in truly good  stories, they also become a real experience for the reader.
It's been rewarding to travel around northern Vermont and New Hampshire with 
The Secret Room.  I try to spend at least as much time listening as talking, at author  events. And I've heard stories of other lives that involve secret rooms,  whether their history is known or not. We all have so many questions  about our past, and about our homes. Sharing the stories and questions  of our lives helps make us rich with spirit, and I believe it gives us  better grounding from which to climb.