Reflecting On the Past

It seems fitting that tonight on the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the titanic my thoughts should be reflecting on the past.  Those small decisions made be indivduals which shape the lives of those around them.  It is ironic as I sit here dwelling on the past that I am actually watching The Matrix a film based on the future where the human race (aside from the few outsiders) have no power to make any choices.  This train of thinking was not only sparked by the anniversary of the tragic loss of life a hundred years ago but also the book I am reading The Resurrectionist
by James Bradley.  This thought provoking novel looks at the profession of the anatomists and bodysnatchers whose trade modern medicine has much to thank for.

Although one could never condone the idea of loved ones being dragged from their graves to be dissected on a cold hard slab, the contribution they made to the understanding of the human body cannot be denied.  The decisions these people made to break the laws for their various reasons has directly impacted all our lives.  Would things have changed and would be where are if they had not we will never know.  Although I am writing medieval fantasy, history fascinates me.  Maybe the reason I write fantasy rather than historical fiction is at the minute I lack the skills to do the history justice, and maybe the patience for all the research required.

Unless someone some day invents a time machine the nearest any of us will get to the past is through books.  I believe that a good book be it a textbook or fiction can make you experience a place in a way no picture or film ever can.  The film or documentary can show you what it was like, They can tell you how it was but a good book engages all the senses.  It can make you smell the air, in the case of the book I am reading the stench of slowly decaying bodies, the smell in the crowded ginshops.  It cam make you imagine the taste of the opium on your tongue, as well as see the world they are depicting. but more than that they draw you into that world to understand not only what the little choices were but why they had to be.  A writer is compelled to write, even if it is only for their own persual,  Once upon a time writing was the providence of the elite, the majority excluded from reading or writing. I know from my family tree I would certainly have fallen into the class denied the opportunity to read.  But the real question is this if I had never read a book would this imagination still be swirling round my head looking for an outlet?  Would I have had the urge to illicitally learn my letters and go against society? Would my creativity take a different path equally reprehensible to society and have found me on the stage, courting any ‘gentleman’ for a few coins?  Throughout history others have made the decisions to go against what was acceptable to give us the chance to do what we love.  But more than that a there are the many individuals whose actions have inspired our thoughts, shaped our stories, and helped create our characters.  They have left behind a legacy through those written words which allows us a glimpse into their worlds and for that I will be forever grateful.  Even in the simplest words we share with others we share a part of ourselves. So what are your thoughts could they writers out there have stopped writing because society forbade it?  Is there any example of where history directly inspired you?