The cameras have gone, and the crowds with them, as Gullane sinks back into its sleepy hush, and locals who'd been kipping in their garages so they could rent out their homes for a packet are dusting the tyre tracks off their sleeping bags.

Not being much interested in golf, whenever a bird's-eye view of Muirfield was beamed across the world during last week's Open Championship, briefly abandoning the greens for the exquisite East Lothian view, I couldn't help wishing the lens had lingered longer on the white beaches and choppy seas than on the golfers' garish trews and timid play.

Now a dog-walker's paradise, those beaches were formerly the haunt of one of Scotland's most prolific, respected and well-liked novelists. Every day, whatever the weather, Nigel Tranter would walk along these sands, head down, waterproof notebook in hand, as he scribbled the next page of his latest work. As writing regimens go, it was decidedly presbyterian. I've rarely been on Gullane beach when it was possible to light a barbecue without ash being blown into your face or sand into the sausages. But perhaps the bracing breeze suited Tranter. He certainly maintained an output, and a standard, that would make many of today's genre writers, lashed to a treadmill as they are, not only envious but dizzy.

In his lifetime, Tranter wrote more than 100 books, most of them historical fiction, a few westerns and books for children. His magnum opus was a five-volume history of the fortified house in Scotland. His passion for castles and defensive dwellings was what first drew him to writing, and as his career progressed it was this unquenchable fascination that made him, for a time, one of Britain's most popular historical novelists. Inspired by imagining how the great historical characters who'd passed through these houses had lived, he wrote increasingly accurate portrayals of some of the most important figures of Scottish history: Macbeth, Thomas the Rhymer and James VI among them.

It was announced recently that Tranter's The Wallace and The Bruce Trilogy have been picked up by renowned US directors Ridley Scott and David W Zucker (of Gladiator and The Good Wife fame respectively), with Alan Clements as executive producer. Timed to coincide with the run-up to the independence referendum, this TV series will focus on the events around William Wallace and Robert the Bruce after Edward I, the Hammer of the Scots, invaded us and imposed his rule on this thrawn, primitive outpost (as he and many later enemies saw it). Clements has promised a "raw" depiction of Wallace, presumably to distinguish this venture from Braveheart's famously sentimental and inaccurate portrayal.

Schoolteachers and history lovers will surely be delighted to have one of the most pivotal and colourful eras in Scotland's past brought alive on screen. Quite how such a series will illuminate the debate around the referendum, though, remains unclear. Much as one is drawn to emotional declarations that we have for centuries been cruelly treated by our southern neighbour, that our status as a proud and separate nation was wrested unfairly from our grasp, and our hopes ground under the oppressor's heel, all that is nonsense. From the tone of Clements's comments, it would seem he's well aware of that too.

Tranter's attention to detail, his factual rigour and his refusal to be drawn into the realms of romantic fantasy should make for good TV. One hopes, however, his work will not be used to serve as misguided propaganda for those who would like to see the approaching vote in terms of ancient grievances.

Tranter died in 2000, by which time the balance of popular fiction in Scotland had already tipped from the historical to the criminal. In one respect the two are not so different. Only the vivid parts of history usually make it on to the fictional page, and for vivid one can usually read violent. The body count in most novels set before penicillin or the Geneva Convention makes the likes of Stuart MacBride or Christopher Brookmyre look positively squeamish about killing off characters. Yet the gentlemanly Tranter certainly was not bloodthirsty. Those daily beachwalks must have had a civilising effect.