Normal' is a dryer setting.
There is simple ignorance, not knowing, and willful ignorance that refuses to know, that covers the light of knowledge with the dark blanket of bias.
Everything in my life that I value has been gained at the cost of not saying what I really think and saying what they want me to say.
No matter what I do, no matter how predictable I try to make my life, it will not be any more predictable than the rest of the world. Which is chaotic.
It is not wrong to be different. Sometimes it is hard, but it is not wrong.
Sometimes I wonder how normal normal people are, and I wonder that most in the grocery store.
Having to struggle gave me the chance to demonstrate strength of character.
I like it that order exists somewhere even if it shatters near me.
People are people, messy and mutable, combining differently with one another from day to day - even hour to hour.
One thing nobody can do better than you is be you.
I always thought my questions were wrong questions because no one else asked them. Maybe no one thought of them. Maybe darkness got there first. Maybe I am the first light touching a gulf of ignorance... Maybe my questions matter.
I regarded drugs as somewhat like rattlesnakes - it's possible to pick one up without getting bit, but why bother?
It may be far in the future, but there's some kind of logical way to get from where we are to where the science fiction is.
Most eyes have more than one color, but usually they're related. Blue eyes may have two shades of blue, or blue and gray, or blue and green, or even a fleck or two of brown. Most people don't notice that.
Even if a tamed wolf makes a good sheepdog, he will never understand how the sheep feel....You are most fortunate. For having been, as you thought, a coward, and helpless to fight - you know what that is like. You know what bitterness that feeling breeds - you know in your own heart what kind of evil it brings. And so you are most fit to fight it where it occurs.
This individual does not know where initiative ends and rocket-propelled idiocy begins.
A tree is alive, and thus it is always more than you can see. Roots to leaves, yes-those you can, in part, see. But it is more-it is the lichens and moss and ferns that grow on its bark, the life too small to see that lives among its roots, a community we know of, but do not think on. It is every fly and bee and beetle that uses it for shelter or food, every bird that nests in its branches. Every one an individual, and yet every one part of the tree, and the tree part of every one.
What it boils down to is that parenting a child with autism is a difficult job; writing about it is far easier.
In a novel, I could submerge my ego in a characters and let his perceptions take over.
There are relatively few science fiction or fantasy books with the main character being an old person.
My personal feeling about science fiction is that it's always in some way connected to the real world, to our everyday world.
I can become very emotional about math, although I'm not that good at it.
I had, of course, no model for that sort of woman being married, but I can make that up as I go along.
I like the Beatles, of course, but that's when I grew up.
But in fantasy, you can make a complete break, and you can put people in a situation where they are confronted with things that they would not confront in the real world.
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