I watched far too much Dr Who when I was young and it left a lasting impression on me. Time travel is a fascinating concept, you have to admit, and one that’s actually being talked about seriously by some of the whackier physicists today. Admittedly their idea of the minimum equipment required seems to be a starship and a black hole, but it’s the thought that counts. But the very idea of course raises questions: if it’s possible, why aren’t we overrun with time travelling tourists? And that old chestnut, the grandfather paradox: if you could go back in time, you could shoot your grandfather before he met your grandmother and hence you would never be born to go back in time and …
Not that any of this necessarily means it can’t be done, or that you can’t write a story about it. You just have to build the explanations into the story itself. Time’s Chariot, at least implicitly, supplies suggested answers to both of these, and more.
Other people have used the term “Home Time” in their own writing: my first time was in the short story “Correspondents”, written in 1993 and published in Aboriginal SF in 1998. The same term cropped up in the story that lent its name to the original novel, “Wingèd Chariot”, published in Interzone. From these two and their hints about the nature of the Home Time arose Time’s Chariot, which is set between the two. Both “Correspondents” and “Wingèd Chariot” [external link] are available to read online.
Not much was cut from the final draft of Time’s Chariot except for a chapter in which the Correspondent interviews Anselm of Canterbury: it gives background detail about both Correspondent and Anselm, but doesn’t actually advance the story much. You can read it here.
And if time travel is to your taste, or you would like to read some kick-ass stuff about it, try my list of essential time travel reading.