This piece, that I wrote in 1998, sums up why I have written speculative fiction
There is much to fear in the world of Existentialism where the dread of oneness to a nothing stands as testament. To escape such baroness of indescribable angst I choose to retreat to a world of my own making. A castle of my ideas where the fractals of mind crystallize into a uniformity creating gateways to 'playthink'….the heaven of my imagination.
It is here that I am a master. A contented deity toying with elements, envisioning scenarios and building story book tales that span the infinity of time.
I live in a peace-like-vapour summoning the greats of history to live in a fantasy with ideas that cry of my making. I am free unbounded by restrictions accosted only by particles that I have exorcised from the demon of idleness to make use in a mechanism of my conception.
The energy that I receive defies physics, crashing limits as it grabs the soul opening up a zest that rekindles a love for my own being.
No longer do I quiver in a dormancy cowered as a prisoner of self doubt. I now can write. An artery linking thought to pen is fused, transporting the sustenance of the pure brain-plan to the reality of the structured form. I am sculpting, developing, churning furrows as I lance continuously into the rich streams of make-believe