As it's Christmas morning and I hope you have lots of lovely things to do today, I'll keep this short.
Which pre-1950s author would I trade places with and why: Weeeeeell. See. Here's the thing. Mighty addicted to my modern conveniences. So trying to whisk me back in time would have to involve some coercion.
But. If that were to occur, it's a tough call. Mary Shelley comes straight to mind because how cool would it have been to have written one of the first science fiction novels known, not to mention Frankenstein's monster? (Thus spawning an entire genre of horror stories, movies, and plays.) However. Corsets and dresses and no modern medicine? Nonstarter.
The other writer vying for my time traveling/life swapping story would be George Bernard Shaw. 100% because I love his writing. His plays are among my favorites. I love the sly sense of humor, the impression of great intellect (which I have always envied) and his views on equality and matters politic. You may thereby deduce my own political leanings if you've a mind. But. The man suffered horrific migraines in a time before any sort of effective medication. His choices were days in a dark room or opiates.
So, no. I want to stay very firmly in this time and place. Where I can ring up my local 24 hour pharmacy and end up with a tiny pill to swallow that stops a migraine in its tracks. Like I said. Modern conveniences.
So while these writers have done work I admire and envy, I think I'll stay right here, put my nose to my own grindstone and see what kind of work I can produce.
Peace. Remember. It's not a holiday unless there's a body to hide. And yes. That's so going in a story.
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