science-fiction

To write a novel is to dream while awake, then express the dream to the reader in an absorbing way. The road leading from the writer's inner world to the readers' is paved with prose.

I am preprogrammed, acting on impulse, dumping a vast memory into a whirling pool and somehow bringing order to it. Building a complex web. I am the spider. This is my venomous bite. I will make them see their folly.

Humanity is a spectator sport. God is the spectator.

Art sometimes imitates life. When it does, science fiction presages what form that life may take.

Her perception was propelled backward, as if it were being pulled into a vortex. She slammed into her body, and her eyes flew open with a gasp.__lex?__he sat straight up in the chair and grabbed Caleb by the shoulders. __e have to save them.

I__e always wondered though,_ Orn mused aloud, __hat does God need with a starship?___re you going to make that stupid quip every time we pass a missionary ship?___ntil they learn a new position.

The chaos and the confusion of all possible outcomes penetrated every pixel of computer generated light, and the waves of all sub-existential normality flooded by, creating an atmosphere of peaceful eventuality. I felt that a gradual restoration was in place, and that piece by piece, universes were being reformed and restored.

Waldo, I say-that is-aren't you tired, my boy?" Professor Buckley, suppressing a yawn, was unaccustomed to others matching his wakefulness wink for wink, as it were, and seemed jealous of the competition Waldo presented in that regard. "Who can sleep?" Waldo replied. "We're on another of these crazy roads, we can't find the interstate...." "Yes, I suppose you're right." The Professor interrupted, taking off his thick spectacles and polishing them on his bright tie. "I, on the other hand, never sleep, as I'm sure you're aware." Waldo smiled. The Professor had little in life to be vain about, and he wasn't going to stop him from expressing a little pride now and then.

In a flurry of sharp brocade coattails and gossamer gowns cut in the Neo-Baroque fashion, the crowd turns back to their conversations, the perfect epitome of what all Aristocrats are like__ored and quickly dissatisfied with the latest trends.

Thus and thus is the world. Seeing the depth, we shall see also the height, and praise both.

Lost Cactus is a cornucopia of sights, sounds and inhabitants completely foreign to a little squirrel like Sammy, but attempting to set him straight will only complicate matters.

The "paranormal" is what we call a phenomenon when examined through the narrow lens of what we consider "normal." You have to leave the entrapment of "normal" beliefs to understand them much as zero gravity can't be understood when you are earthbound.

Nothing is harder on the nerves than hope.

I think best on two wheels

But when she finally did look up, I realized my fatal mistake. That by not leaping for her when she jumped, she thought that I no longer wanted to catch her.

I__ conscious of race whenever I__ writing, just as I__ conscious of class, religion, human psychology, politics _ everything that makes up the human experience. I don__ think I can do a good job if I__ not paying attention to what__ meaningful to people, and in American culture, there isn__ anything that informs human interaction more than the idea of race.

Waldo inhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling. It was at times like this that he was at his worst. His mind, while indecisive, was also capable of producing the most detailed, fantastic daydreams imaginable, and with the mysterious disappearance of his grandfather as fodder, his speculations grew even more intense and far-fetched than usual. On the other hand, the logical part of his brain, underdeveloped as it was, went almost entirely untapped in such a situation. Waldo was literally frozen into inaction by his chemical makeup, and this was apparent in the number of cigarettes he lit, the number of sighs he expelled, and the number of times his helpless fingers alternated between nervously tapping the coffee table and running through his unkempt hair. All that night, Waldo remained awake, deep in unproductive thought, routinely walking back and forth from the living room to the front porch, where he would take a seat in the old-fashioned swing and smoke heavily. The blissful suburban setting, especially on spring nights like this, when the crickets chirped so lustily, and the porch swing creaked so reassuringly in the warm breeze, was perfect for conjuring up bold new fantasies.

Why? Why did you kill them?__e laughed, recognizing it bore a frightening coldness. __ecause you walked through the wrong door, and they paid you to do it. You will be a testament to the terror that arrives the moment you or anyone else crosses the invisible line you didn__ know existed until tonight. Spread the word.