Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress.

But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life.

Speculative fiction encompasses that which we could actually do. Sci-fi is that which we're probably not going to see.

There is no fool like an educated fool.

Teaching other people to write is not something I can do. The only kind of advice I can give them will be trite by its nature. Of course, read a lot, write a lot. The kind of advice I wish I had been given is all of a practical nature, having to do with publishers and agents.

Potential has a shelf life.

She had her reasons. Not that they were the same as anybody else's reasons.