There are three things that have caused the most self-doubt in me in attempting to write this book: fear that it has no real readership (i.e., market), fear that I will get the history wrong in either small or fundamental ways, and fear that I will wind up writing something that cribs from someone else’s work, or basically repeats something someone else has done. I imagine these are things that pretty much every writer fears, although how much of each afflicts any given writer is probably subjective.

First, readership: I largely started writing this because it was a book I wanted to read, or at least, there were elements I wanted to see in a book that I had not found in combination anywhere, and I wanted to see them put together in a story that was relatively satisfying to me. But just because I want to read a particular book or find particular things interesting and worth exploring in fiction doesn’t mean that anyone else is clamoring for them. The book is a hybrid of genres: historical, mystery, fantasy. You have historical mysteries and historical fantasy as genres, why not all three at once? I mean, certainly, many books tend to have some kind of genre crossover, even genres that are hybrids to start with, but having all three might be a genre too many for some. Then there’s the topic: yes, people like historical fiction/historical mysteries, but the setting is less common and probably less appealing to many. If I were setting this in 9th century Britain, or 16th century Venice, or even just writing the main story from the Viking perspective, it would have greater appeal to a wider audience. I think (heck, I know) that setting any book in an Islamic-majority society, or with main characters who are Muslim, tends to lose a lot of Western readers. That’s a very large topic right there—that you can have Muslims in a story if they fill certain roles or act certain familiar-if-not-always-entirely-accurate tropes out that a large swath of readers are comfortable with, but not other roles—and worthy of its own discussion. Of course, that isn’t the only reason the ideas behind this might not appeal to most readers; maybe it’s too ridiculous, or not handled well, or maybe it’s that my story is really quite tedious. But there it is, and it’s inescapable: either it has broad enough appeal or it hasn’t. In the end, as far as getting it published goes, it doesn’t matter so much if it’s the most brilliantly written, historically accurate, fascinatingly plotted book possible if it isn’t something that people will want to read. That part I can’t control. Thus, just write it and see.

Second, historical accuracy: I fear that I have been writing something that is either riddled with small inaccuracies or has some larger historical flaw in a major premise. Should it be published, most readers are probably not going to notice small issues (and may even question some things that are actually accurate, and I already can guess a few of those), but there may be those readers…and I know this, because I have been one of them on occasion…who really do know the subject better than the writer. I know from experience that inaccuracies can pretty much spoil suspension of disbelief and mess up the story. Granted, there are two things to be said here in my own defense: one, I did a pretty fair amount of diligent research in world-building and fact-checking (for example, in the course of writing this, I have read four journal articles just on Andalusi plumbing, two of which were not in my native tongue) and can at least defend some of my questionable choices; two, unfortunately, there are some things just not known and one sometimes has to make educated guesses and take artistic license. Clothing, for example: there are very few extant garments from al-Andalus, certainly from this period (what we have is fragments of textiles, like tiraz bands); much has to be extrapolated from extant garments from other Muslim areas, or from art or written records. You can do a whole heap of research and still run into questions: here you are, trundling along, and you suddenly have to wonder: “Would people have been eating that? Are they sitting on chairs, or cushions? Yes, but were those perfume notes found in scents of the period? Would she have buttons on her sleeves, and was this color part of the dye palette of the time? How far away from this locale was that neighborhood in the 9th century? How many people fit into that kind of boat?” Sometimes I’d stop and look things up and try not to get sidetracked (fat chance); sometimes I’d recognize that sidetracking was far too likely, or that the answer wasn’t simple or readily found, or there were conflicting accounts…and I’d mark it as something to backfill later. Sometimes the answers just weren’t there, and sometimes if you don’t just keep writing you won’t write. On one or two occasions, I picked something that was possible even if not the most probable because it fit the story better (I tried not to do this at all, but I did create one character whose origins are improbable although not impossible.) I worry that someone will spot a particularly obnoxious, egregious, or utterly impossible flaw in the history, and it will be an utter disappointment to that person; I’ll get wind of their disappointment and possible scorn and feel very bad about it (getting ahead of myself in assuming it gets published and actually reaches the reading list of someone likely to feel disappointment and scorn in my historical flaws.) I made a lot of historical corrections as I went along and learned new things. It’s probably still error-riddled. At some point, I had to stop dithering and pulling out books and articles and just write.

Third, unintentionally plagiarizing/writing something someone else has done/doing something too similar to another writer’s work or that appears really derivative: this one terrifies me. As I said, I started writing a book based on what I wanted to read about and couldn’t find. I didn’t think this particular story had been told from these particular angles. In fact, finding anything written about this particular set of historical events was rare. And then as I was writing, the doubt started creeping in: well, Gaiman has done a lot of exploration of the nature of old gods no longer worshiped…could this wind up too American Godsish in theme, or like some arcs in Sandman? The only fiction I’m finding about al-Andalus seems to be written about the end of the era, about later in the era, or as part of the “clash of civilizations” (and mostly told from the Christian-Iberian POV), or is otherwise not like this…but is that all there is? I’m afraid that much of what is written by non-Muslim American and UK writers exploring Muslim culture of the period doesn’t feel authentic to me, however well-written it is otherwise; it feels as if they’re writing about something that they’re not really culturally comfortable/familiar with and they are sometimes over-relying on predictable tropes. I recognize that as a sweeping judgment, but I often do sense discomfort in authors uncertain of how to write these characters. Spanish writers have done much more with the era, which makes sense, and have a different mode of approach. I have to confess that my Spanish is now kind of rusty, and reading in Spanish takes about 3 times as long for me as English (my French is starting to get out of practice, too.) Am I rewriting someone else’s work unknowingly, only in English? Finding out what was out there in the first place was important, which meant exploring Spanish books in particular. Ah, look, Carlos Aurensanz wrote a trilogy of novels about the Banu Qasi; I’d better read at least the first one, since Musa ibn Musa shows up in my book, and it’s good to see what other writers have done with the period…all right; I’m not unintentionally treading all over Sr. Aurensanz’s work. Oh, and here’s Mario Villen Lucena’s 40 Dias de Fuego, about the Viking attack on Ishbiliya…ah, mierda, in the first chapter we are introduced to an Amazigh shepherd, uh-oh…O.K., whew, totally different book (warning: although it’s quite good, there’s a lot of graphic violence including depictions of sexual violence, which I tend to skip over when reading.) Back in the anglophone world, G. Willow Wilson has written a book set in al-Andalus featuring djinn. Oh, dear, I really like her stuff and I hope it’s not too similar in theme…well, it’s set at the fall of Granada. I will read it when I’ve finished writing this book (I’m reading and enjoying it now, matter of fact.) I don’t write in a particularly similar style, I think, and I’m clearly not being derivative of her. And so on. You get the gist. I could spend all of my time slowly reading Spanish novels and fretting about possibly surveying ground already mapped, or I could call it good and just write my book.

That’s many words I’ve written, all about the forces standing against me that happen to be in my own head when I have contemplated actually sitting down and writing a work of fiction that is set in a particular time and place, and has particular sorts of characters. Always there is the obnoxiously persistent voice, oily and overfamiliar, murmuring into my ear: How are you qualified to write about this in the first place? Why do you presume to do this?

Well, I probably am not “qualified.” And I might not have historical accuracy so flawless it stands as a masterwork of scholarship, at least regarding Andalusi indoor toilets*. I might not have a surefire bestseller which has themes that everyone can relate to and wants to read. I might wear too many inspirations on my sleeves, or be writing about events that other (better) writers have written books about. But regardless, I have just had to set all of that aside and say to the obnoxious voice, every time it pipes up: At least I’m actually writing it.

*These existed, yes, and there is evidence that they were ubiquitous: archaeological finds suggest that even poor homes in the city of Qurtuba had indoor plumbing. If you are time traveling and looking for a period that won’t be too difficult if you like hygiene and plumbing, al-Andalus is a good choice.