Sometimes, the most important insights for writing historical fiction come from immersing yourself in the places and spaces of the past. Last year, I visited the Rising Sun Tavern in Fredericksburg, Virginia, a building constructed in 1760 by Charles Washington, George Washington’s youngest brother. It began as his home before becoming a tavern, and today it is a museum. I went with a group of former coworkers from Richmond, Virginia. That afternoon reshaped my understanding of life in a tavern.

The first thing that struck me was the size. Taverns of the time weren’t sprawling public houses – they were small, compact spaces where strangers shared tables, conversation, and bedrooms. Rooms were tight, ceilings low, and every inch of space served a purpose.

I also learned that taverns of Virginia at the time had their own signature punch recipe. Travelers would remember them by the flavor. Locals argued over which was the best. These punch concoctions weren’t just drinks; they were identity.

And then there was the kitchen, which wasn’t tucked neatly inside the building; it was reached through an outside door. And although I did not use this detail in Myers Tavern, I also learned that the term “bar” referred to the wooden barrier separating the tavern keeper, bottles, casks, and money from the customers. It was an actual protective divider, a counter where drinks were served.

These visits to historic places are a necessity for getting the narrative right. Feeling the characters as they move through life.

And now I’m beginning research for my next novel, set in 1880 along the C&O Canal, Baltimore, and Johnstown, Pennsylvania. My friend Blain and I are starting our tour this week in the Mt Vernon neighborhood of Baltimore, ready to step into another time.