Science fiction is often described, and even defined, as extrapolative. The science fiction writer is supposed to take a trend or phenomenon of the here and now, purify and intensify it for dramatic effect, and extend it into the future.

The writer at her work is playing. Not chess not poker not monopoly, none of the war games – Even if she plays by all their rules and wins – wins what? Their funny money? – not playing hero, not playing god – well, but listen, making things is a kind of godly business, isn’t it? All right, then, playing god, Aphrodite the Maker, without whom

The air is full of tunes. A piece of rock is full of statues. The earth is full of visions. The world is full of stories.

To me the “female principle” is, or at least historically has been, basically anarchic. It values order without constraint, rule by custom not by force. It has been the male who enforces order, who constructs power structures, who makes, enforces and breaks laws.

Dancing on the brink of the world.

The participant may be able to carry some of that energy home, not having learned “how to write,” but having learned what it is to write.

language of power – of social power; I shall call it the father tongue.

Her work, I really think her work isn’t fighting, isn’t winning, isn’t being the Earth, isn’t being the Moon. Her work, I really think her work is finding what her real work is and doing it, her work, her own work, her being human, her being in the world.

Morning comes whether you set the alarm or not.