Man, looks like I’m just embedding tweets here all day—I did just wrap an extensive novel rewrite about five minutes ago—but, here’s another one, a good one, an important one:

Oh, and while I DID once somehow embe…

Tom Paris, saying aloud the creed I live by, pretty much. And? This is my only persistent problem with intergalactic humans in stories: they always come out of warp at some Mos Eisley of a truckstop and just eat whatever’s being served. I can’t help but think that would be instant death. Not just of the soul, but the gut, since no way can we have the proper enzymes to digest some vending machine egg-salad fossil from another solar system.

Also, while I’m postin…

is the author of 22 or 23 books, 250+ stories, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots

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