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That’s why I love stories. I want to know what happens next.
I love a story that keeps me guessing until the final resolution.
I love a story that pulls me out of the dullness of daily life and shows me vivid wonders and ghastly horrors in sharp contrast.
I particularly love a story that speculates: what’s going to happen next? Next year? Next decade? Next century? Next millennium? And what about after that?
I grew up on the stories of Asimov, Clarke, and Heinlein. I loved their imaginations, but I hated their philosophies. Somewhere at the core of their stories, they fundamentally misunderstood what it meant to be human.
Then I discovered Frank Herbert, Gene Wolfe, and Jack Vance. They told honest, imaginative stories about broken, spiritual people seeking after hope.
Those are the kinds of stories I love most to read.
Those are the kinds of stories I love most to write.
I still wonder what’s going to happen next. I’m still looking for the next railroad tie. And so I write.