“But it is the only reason to write: for a moment, my mind becomes a bell that, in resonating, makes yours vibrate. It’s the closest we people of flesh can come to being in someone else’s mind, in that lonely space behind the eyes.”
So I woke up this morning feeling tired. Partly this is because I spent yesterday painting walls and waxing floors and things hurt. Partly it is that I had a rousing battle with my bedclothes. I don’t even know why. I just now they were all tangled at my feet, and I had the feeling of having run miles in my sleep.
While I was getting the holy caffeine needed to even read let alone write blog posts, I found myself thinking about why I write.
There are reasons for this.
Recently I had an interview with the Baen podcast people. It was about the anthology Time and Again in which I have a short story “So Little and So Light” which if Prometheus were given for short stories would definitely be in the running.
One of the questions, which I never answered, because the question about how I write…
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