"The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there"
-L. P. Hartley
I truly believed it was possible. I only needed to figure out how…. Perhaps a magic portal would open or a tear in the fabric of time would send me back to where I belonged, because I certainly didn’t belong in the early 1990s. How could anyone with an adolescent desire for peace and beauty live in a world of Nirvana and Aquanet?
I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in the past? Life was simpler, the clothes were better. Romance was real. The frontier still existed with infinite possibilities of adventure. It seemed better than head-banging to Kurt Cobain.
Well, obviously it never happened, which may have been for the best considering my dependence on Excedrin, contact lenses, and properly functioning indoor plumbing.
Instead I found another consolation: historical fiction. If I couldn’t will myself into the past then at least I could write my way there, walking alongside my characters and exploring their worlds with them.
So in a way I guess I did find the secret to time travel. Meanwhile, I survived the decade where parachute pants were considered fashionable. And you know what, someday someone will write a historical fiction novel about Courtney Love. It won’t be me.