When I look at the world, I remember why I loved sf/ fantasy. It was such an escape from what seemed so mundane. Worlds where I could talk to miniature dragons and fight giant squid… or vice versa. Worlds where an office was not a normal part of everyone’s day. It shaped me: that’s why I chose the crooked, rambling path my life has taken me down. Looking back, I suppose much of it was ignoring that great military advice: never volunteer. It’s good advice, you just don’t end up in as many interesting situations. I say you might regret them, but it is better than regretting never having taken those chances. Of course, sometimes you die or live to regret it too.

Anyway, it does color my writing, and my reading… but I find the older I get the less well I deal with tragedy, especially the real ones I have encountered. Is this age or just me?

Sorry, short post, but I am dead tired — A lot of work, and a lot of it on the excavator – an eight-ton machine my grandchildren find as fascinating as I found sf/fantasy. It’s sort of out of their normal world. I found working within inches of the building fascinating too, but not in a good way. Just letting you know I’m alive.

Anyway, no one was killed and nothing got broken. And I am making slow progress with the book -fighting Kraken.