I had started to feel that somewhere in the second half of the 20th century, the idea of page-turning as a good thing had been lost. You were getting books that were the equivalent of absolutely beautifully prepared dishes of food that didn't taste like anything much.

The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do.

If you are protected from dark things then you have no protection of, knowledge of, or understanding of dark things when they show up.

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all.

Set your fantasies in the here and now and then, if challenged, claim to be writing Magical Realism.

My people, we stay indoors. We have keyboards. We have darkness. It's quiet.

Rain in the graveyard, and the world puddled into blurred reflections.