when I think of my favorite books it’s hard to find anyone I’d want to be. The Handmaid’s Tale? 1984? Catch-22? No, not even a peripheral character. The works of Dickens, Trollope, Collins, Thackeray? No, I would not want to live in the pre-antibiotic era when women could not vote and pain relief consisted of dosing yourself with alcohol and/or opium. The same objections stand for the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway and Woolf. Dental care back then doesn’t even bear considering. The novels of Ruth Rendell? I’d prefer not to be traumatized by the murder of even a casual acquaintance.
Besides, the very nature of being a fictional character means no free will. One’s actions and reactions are set by the author.
Nope. Nobody. I’ll take reality thanks.
If this is reality. How would I know if I were a fictional character?
Pam Troy 