Heaven is what you mix all the days of your life, but you call it dreams. You have one chance to buy your Heaven with all the intents and ethics of y… - Harlan Ellison

I no longer indulge in those time-wasting amateurisms called “fanning”; I decided if I was going to be a writer, I had to go ahead and ignore all the silverfish in the paperwork. And that meant no more fan magazine writing, no more convention attending, no more getting caught up in the moronic time-cannibalizing feuds many fans need to sustain their mingy little lives.

How very much like a native of Earth this creature was. Governed by its stomach and a will to survive. A religion founded in fear and nurtured on terror.

I mean, what do you do, when you find that things are not what you were taught they’re supposed to be? What do you do with the desperation that boils up from your stomach when you know there’s a road out there with your destination at the end of it, but it’s too damned dark to even find the road? You turn and turn and turn around like a dog trying to escape. Shrieks in the cavity of your head that so urgently needs to be filled with facts and challenges.