That's entirely personal--and something of an accident. But I like it. In fact, I've never regretted moving here. (01/07/2009)

"Is this just a matter of genre?" That's backward. Genre doesn't determine matter: matter determines genre. For example, I don't provide "Ancillary Documentation" in the GAP books because I'm writing sf. I provide "Ancillary Documentation" because it's appropriate to my subject-matter; and *that* determines the story's genre. (Have I confused you yet? I'll keep trying.) The simplest distinction between magic and technology (fantasy and sf) is that magic is internal where technology is external. The gap drive depends on an arcane manipulation of the laws of physics: the person *using* the gap drive has absolutely no effect on whether or not the drive works. The "impossible" is external, entirely the result of a physical device. Wild magic, in contrast, is an expression of the person wielding its instrument. Different people can do different things with wild magic, as they can with Earthpower--and with every other form of magic in "The Chronicles". An instrument may be necessary (white gold) or it may not (the Ranyhyn don't use tools), but the magic itself articulates the spirit or passion or imagination or transcendance of the person using the instrument or power. ("You are the white gold.") So magic is internal. Put another way, technology is a means to an end. In one sense or another, magic is not a means: it's an end. In both cases, of course, a person determines the use to which the "impossible" is put. But you could say that in sf the person *chooses* the use, while in fantasy the person *is* the use. Incidentally, that's why magic is better left (mostly) unexplained. The more it's explained, the more it becomes external: the mere presence of an explanation requires the magic to conform to the rules of that explanation; and if it works that way *here* it should work the same way elsewhere, for anyone--just like a technological device. Put still another way: in "The Chronicles," the "impossible" describes my characters; in the GAP books, the "impossible" describes the reality inhabited by my characters. (01/07/2009)

Tsk tsk. Surely you know by now that I delight in outfoxing people who try to second-guess me. <grin> (01/07/2009)

I've read the "Sandman" books, and really enjoyed them. But I don't know enough about Gaiman's other work to hazard an opinion. Dylan Thomas, of course, I studied extensively in college and grad school. There can hardly be any doubt that his poetry wields an unconscious influence on, say, the prose style that I've chosen for "The Chronicles". (01/07/2009)

I'm glad you enjoyed it! And, as I keep saying, Scott Brick intends to release all of the "Covenant" books in due course. Since he's doing this entirely on his own initiative, he deserves all the reward and remuneration he can get. (01/07/2009)

Yes, I loved "Dune". A true classic. I even enjoyed "Dune Messiah"--although "Dune" stands well on its own. But I haven't been able to get into any of the subsequent books. (01/07/2009)

Actually, I believe I *have* talked about this. Trying to brief.... Our biggest fight was over "The Illearth War". In the first drafts of that book, the whole story of Korik and Hyrim's mission to Seareach was told in one uninterrupted "movement"--from Korik's point of view. Lester objected in the strongest possible terms; and until I understood the substance of his objection, I was devastated. (Being fair to myself: he made himself difficult to understand because he preferred to dictate solutions without explaining what the problems were.) However, once I did understand his objection (he felt that 200+ pages from Korik's POV undermined everything I was trying to do with Covenant's Unbelief), I naturally agreed with him. I didn't accept any of his proposed solutions: to his credit, he did accept mine (no doubt because I demonstrated a grasp on the underlying problem). (01/13/2009)

Whoa! This one almost got past me. Too many unwarrented assumptions. First, in my view, Kevin could easily have believed that the Power of Command was something that could/should only be used once. EVER. Keep in mind that he didn't use it *himself*. He thought that his circumstances were bad enough to justify a Ritual of Desecration--and *still* he stayed away from the EarthBlood. He must have foreseen the possibility of something EVEN WORSE: something so bad that it could never happen twice because the world would no longer exist. (Or maybe, just maybe, he knew what the EarthBlood is actually *for*.) In any case, if Kevin--or any of the Lords--had possessed the kind of precise prescience necessary to foresee Elena, none of this story would ever have happened at all. Second, you appear to be forgetting that we don't know what was in Kevin's lost Wards. Maybe if Amok had not arrived (very) prematurely--maybe if the new Lords had been able to relearn Kevin's Lore in its intended sequence--a new Amok-figure could have been created at need to replace the old one. The way events actually played out in "The Illearth War" is so obviously *not* what Kevin intended that we really can't draw conclusions about his intentions on that basis. (01/13/2009)

Did I "take pause" after the destruction of Kevin's Watch? No. a) I knew what I was going to do before I did it. b) I knew *why* I was going to do it before I did it. And c) writing something that crucial typically increases rather than interrupts my forward momentum. I gave myself a pat on the back when I first came up with the idea. When I actually wrote it, I just forged ahead. (01/13/2009)

Well, I *have* thought about it--but not to much purpose, I'm afraid. I can never really put myself in the shoes (so to speak) of my readers: to do so would require me to forget entirely the experience of *writing* the story. Or, putting the problem another way: I'll always know what I *meant*, even if what I wrote doesn't actually *say* that. The poor--or perhaps blessed--reader only knows what I wrote. And then, of course, there's the obvious point that I don't know how *I'm* going to feel when I finish "The Last Dark".... (01/13/2009)

Contradiction and paradox, paradox and contradiction. The more you look at "The Chronicles," the more examples you'll find. How could it be otherwise? (01/20/2009)

As with any critical analysis, Senior's study reflects his way of thinking about reading my books, not my way of thinking about writing them. Of course, I'm educated in his general style of thought (although every critical thinker is different in practice). Similarly, he's, well, educated in *my* general style of thought: we're friends; and he's interviewed me several times. But that doesn't mean I think in his terms--or anything like them--while I write. (He certainly doesn't think in my terms when he reads.) You might consider it this way: it's my job to bury as much gold as I possibly can; it's his job to locate and dig up as much gold as he possibly can. Those are very different activities being performed by very different people. In fact, I pay a HUGE amount of attention to the "technical aspect" of my storytelling. But those words probably don't mean the same thing to me that they do to you. For example: as a storyteller, I have absolutely no interest in such things as "patterns of heros and mythos". It's the critic's job to take note of such things and generalize about them; but good storytelling must by definition be very specific, dealing as it does (almost exclusively) with specific individuals and specific emotions in specific situations. Putting the whole thing another way. The storyteller tries to reach outward (to patterns) by reaching inward (to individuals). The critic does the opposite, starting with patterns and applying them to individuals. (01/28/2009)

Sorry. I don't remember the question. That was too long ago. But my answer--as you quote it--was pretty flip. (On the other hand, if she actually said, "Well you've got it wrong!" she was being rather presumptuous.) I must have been very tired. Certainly that Australian tour was the hardest work I've ever done in public. In some sense, of course, my characters *do* try to take control--and I *don't* let them. But that statement misrepresents my (conscious) creative process. A more accurate statement goes like this: a) some characters reveal more life (express themselves more) than I expect; b) I don't know why they do that because they don't fit my plans for the story; c) but I learned to trust them a long time ago, so I give them free rein (after all, if necessary I can always jerk them back when I rewrite); and d) eventually they show me why I need them to be what they've become instead of what I originally thought they would be. In the end, the pieces *do* fit, even though they take me by surprise when they first appear. (01/28/2009)

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Three things. 1) Sometimes when ideas arrive inconveniently, I chant them to myself like a mantra until I get a chance to write them down. 2) Sometimes I just go ahead and write them down, even if I'm with friends or--gasp!--driving. (Bad Steve! No bisquit!) 3) And sometimes I simply trust to my entirely unproven belief that any idea that lets me forget it probably wasn't worth remembering anyway. (Incidentally, that belief has a corollary: nothing is ever truly lost. If an idea disappears now, it'll probably reappear later, probably in a form I no longer recognize.) (01/28/2009)