This started out as a monologue, and turned into a whole first scene. The original plan was to put a modern woman, writing under a male pseudonym, in the same room as George Sand and George Eliot. That lasted for about the time it took to write the scene below, when I realized that I couldn't think of a good reason why a modern woman would want to write under a male pseudonym. So I started reading up on the Twenties, which is where I figured it would make sense for a woman to want to write as a man, as a political point, as a declaration of war, as a kind of literary suffragette. And which is where it will probably end up some day (minus the current final line Huck Finn echo, alas) with a couple of thinly-disguised Hemingway and Fitzgerald avatars whom the two Georges can take the piss out of. Because, y’know, they deserve it.
[SHEILA GREENE, AKA TOBY BELL, STANDING AT A PODIUM]