The Sense of Wonder.

I've recently been unboxing books that have been in storage for years. There were always books on my shelves. There had to be. I could never manage without being surrounded by at least some of them. Many more, though, spent years sealed away in boxes in the garage. Now that I've finally sorted the shelving, they're gradually making their way back into the house.

I always knew what I owned. My database kept track of that for me. What I didn't have was easy access to much of the collection. As each box is opened, I check every book against the catalogue, confirm the edition, correct the occasional mistake, update the tags and replace cover images where necessary. It's wonderful to be reuniting with these old friends.

This process throws up the occasional surprise. Every now and then I find a duplicate, a book that somehow slipped through the net and never made it into the catalogue in the first place, or a forgotten signed copy. There are also those books that, despite the database, had completely slipped from my memory.

I've found myself pausing a lot to look at the cover art. I know we can't judge a book by its cover, but we do anyway. When I was younger and trawling second-hand bookshops and market stalls for science fiction novels, the cover often played a significant part in my purchasing. If the book was by a favourite or familiar author but the title was unknown to me, the decision was usually easy enough. Venturing into completely unknown names was different. Then I was relying on a combination of an intriguing blurb and a promising cover.

Looking at these old paperbacks again, I'm reminded just how much the artwork meant to me. I have vivid memories of lying on the living room floor with an Asimov novel beside me and staring at a Chris Foss cover until the image was permanently lodged in my imagination. Those vast spacecraft, impossible structures and alien landscapes promised a whole universe of exploration and discovery.

I once saw a comment that modern covers are designed, whereas older covers were art. Sure, the old covers didn't always match the story, but that almost seems irrelevant. They weren't simply trying to tell you what sort of book you were holding. They were trying to capture a mood, an idea, a sense of wonder and awe. A Chris Foss cover didn't need to be an accurate depiction of anything, it just needed to excite your imagination.

Perhaps that is why so much modern cover art doesn't appeal to me. Digital artists can create images of extraordinary complexity and detail. Yet many modern covers feel as though they have been assembled rather than painted. What they rarely do is stop me in my tracks and make me wonder. When I look at an old Foss, Pennington or Elson cover, I don't just see a book cover. I see a universe waiting. Forty years later they still make me want to pick up the book and see where it will take me.

I think the same distinction applies to the stories themselves. Modern publishing often feels highly designed. Writers have access to endless advice on structure, pacing, character arcs and plotting. Manuscripts pass through rounds of drafts, workshops, beta readers and professional editors. The results are often technically excellent, but I sometimes feel as though the life has been edited out of them. They are polished, refined and carefully constructed, yet most don't excite me the way older books do. The rough edges have gone, but so has some of the spontaneity.

Many of the older science fiction novels sitting on my shelves feel different. Not necessarily better. Often they are far less polished. The dialogue can be clunky, the characters sometimes thin and the plots occasionally held together with little more than enthusiasm. Their imagination is front and foremost.

It was more difficult to produce eighteen drafts when you were hammering away at a typewriter and producing carbon copies, and I suspect that's a big part of it. The writer reached a point where they were simply done. By modern standards that almost sounds reckless, yet some of those books still contain ideas and images that have stayed with me for more than forty years.

And so I continue to return to them. I still read contemporary science fiction and occasionally discover something wonderful, but when I think about Science Fiction, it is usually those older paperbacks that come to mind. I have found my niche. They speak to me. They still carry that sense of wonder that first drew me to the genre.

As I unpack these boxes, I'm finding books that I haven't really seen for many years.  And those covers still have exactly the same effect on me that they did when I first saw them. That sense of wonder has returned and I once again want to dive into those pages, to go and explore the universe..

A Non-Post.

Every few weeks this blog reminds me it wants an update. It did this morning, and so a few hours ago I sat down to write a post. I stared at the screen for a few minutes before I wrote a few lines, deleted them, wrote a few more, deleted them, and tried once more before turning the machine off.

Some days are like that. Either the idea you have doesn't pan out, or you've forgotten the brilliant idea you had last night, or the inspiration you so hoped for as you stare at the screen simply chooses not to arrive. I'd rather not force it when nothing immediately pops into my brain, but later in the day that itching returned. I then sat down and tried again, so here we are - writing about how I have nothing to write about.

Fiction writing can be like that too. Nothing for a long time, then recently, suddenly, a moment of inspiration. Sat down and wrote 600 words in a single session. I shaped them, teased them, tweaked them, and juggled them into words I really liked. And then a couple of days later when I returned to them, they were gone. I'd saved them, and I was able to recover the file, but it had been written over and so the words were not recoverable. I'd accidentally deleted it somehow.

Now I have to work out how to recapture that writing. I was really happy with those words, and now I'm worried I won't get near them again. I just need to overcome that concern and just go for it - new, better words, I hope.

After all, they are just words.

Kicking It Old School.

I write a lot. Almost daily. And almost all of it is by hand.

This feels almost sacrilegious in this computer age, particularly when my job role specialises in digital tools, but I already spend too much time staring at screens.

It’s slower, yes, but that’s part of the appeal. Slowness forces you to think, to feel the words as they form. There’s something deeply satisfying about the physical act of writing by hand. It’s tangible.

Handwriting changes the rhythm of my thoughts, and allow me time to change and adapt as I go. I pause more. I choose words with care. It’s in the “now”. Alert and mindful.

And then I have the satisfaction of seeing volumes of journals and notebooks lined up, filled with my words, my scratchings.  And that’s a joy you don’t get from a hard drive in a machine.

It's not for everyone. When I first started out, or re-started, my hand ached.  I was using muscles I hadn’t used since High School.  But as I wrote more often and for longer periods, my stamina increased, my writing became more legible, and my hand ached less and less.

I love it. And once you go back, there’s no going forward again.

Making Headway.

I’ve mentioned my writing projects before - though I’m keeping them private for now. They’ve finally started making real headway, which is exciting after working on them, on and off, for quite some time. There were stretches that felt heavy, like a weight I couldn’t quite shift. But I pushed through, and now I’m about where I hoped to be.

I’d planned to reach this point about a year ago, but the project grew - became more expansive than I’d imagined. That’s the nature of creative work, I suppose. It unfolds in its own time.

Soon comes the part I’ve been longing for: the enjoyable stages. They’ll take time, but I know I’ll love every moment.

Unusually for me, I’ve been handwriting these stories. It’s surprising how many people find it difficult to write by hand for any length of time. With computers and screens everywhere, we’re all out of practice. But my handwriting has improved, and so has my stamina. These days, I can fill page after page with little effort or with my hand cramping.

I do get through pens and notebooks, but the tale is really coming together. And you never know — one day, it might even be seen by others.

Big-noting and Small Talking.

I once met an author who spent an extraordinary amount of time speaking about themself. I would have said it was just the highlights of their apparent illustrious career, but it went on and on and on. Shortlisted for a few local awards, one one and lost a couple - but not their fault. Always hard done by and as a result of vendettas against them.

They hadn't actually published anything of real note, and I hadn't read any of their work. Or so I thought.

They then mentioned a book, quite an obscure book that they had recently ghost-written. I had to bite my tongue, as it was a book I had actually read - an historical book on a subject close to my heart.  It was awful. It was, in fact, the worst written book I had ever encountered. Poor grammar, badly structured, repetitive, with whole paragraphs that seemed to convey the same thing several times, and obvious spelling errors.  And the editing was even worse. (Yes, they had self-edited, I believe.)

There is no reason to believe this author remembers me at all, and we have no current connections. Even though, I doubt they would recognise themself from the above. Someone told me recently that they hadn't changed, although the minor glories were now long in the past.

As they spoke I didn't say anything, just smiled and nodded with the others who were standing there. But they continued to preach their prowess, name-dropping at will. Oh, and they said a few things which shouldn't be said in public.

On the other hand, a few months ago I managed to listen to Charlie Higson. Not only is he a respected author, but a very funny comedian and fine actor who appeared in The Fast Show, one of my all time favourite comedy shows. A show that I watched repeatedly when I lived in Japan, and then again when I returned to Australia.

Charlie was funny, engaging, self-deprecating, and humble. I managed to catch-up with him afterwards, and thank him for his time. Told him how much I appreciated his work and then left before I could annoy him.  He was gracious, and thanked me.  He said he was grateful the Fast Show had been able to touch and entertain so many people.

I know who I would want to listen to again, or purchase from. Which reminds me, I need to go and watch The Fast Show again.

It's gripped! It's sorted! 

Let's Fast Show!

Just Like Old Times.

I did something last week I haven't done for a long time.  I sent a story out into the wilderness.

In the past few years, I haven't done much fiction writing. A number of reasons, including undertaking my Masters online and the whole Covid thing, meant I just didn't have the time. Or the desire. And then once you lose that momentum, it's hard to get back.

But I did a quick polish on a story and sent it off. I was also quite pleased to receive an acknowledgement within a few hours. A lovely one to boot.

I sent out a story about 11 years ago and never received anything at all. I queried a few times, and still nothing. Technically, I suppose it's still with them.  They did have a submission policy which stated I couldn't submit a piece to more than one place at a time, so please don't let them know I've since sold it. They might not be happy with me.

It was great to get another story out, and to have that anticipation.  Will they? Won't they?  You never know. I might even send out another one.

Remembered For A While.

I read a great deal. And widely.

There's something magical about reading old anthologies of short stories. Stories from a different world, a different time. Often written in a different style to modern writing, with language, situations and events that simply wouldn't fly today. They seem quirky, out of place, as though from an alternate history. But I love them for this reason. And there's a joy in discovering a particularly brilliant short story by an author I've never heard of before. I look them up, and sometimes there is no further information to be found.

And then I get to wondering. Did they write anything else, or were they prolific but only had one story published? Maybe they had other stories published in magazines not readily available? And what did they do outside their writing life?  Maybe they only live on through that one written piece.

Last week, this was on my mind when I was walking through a cemetery. This is local, and I often take a short cut through it. I see the names on the gravestones, some going back centuries and none of which I recognise, and continue on. But this time I wondered about them. Who were they? How did they live their lives? Were they happy?

The next day I saw a quote which seemed apt. "One day, someone will mention your name for the final time and then you'll be forgotten."

I've tried to find the source for this, but it appears to be a variation on a quote attributed to Banksy, "They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing, and a second time when somebody says your name for the last time."  And take that a step further, and it appears to be an articulation of an ancient Egyptian saying.  And who said it originally?  Ironically, we have no idea.

Will I be remembered? For a while, I guess. Not as long as others who have fame. Maybe in a hundred years or more someone will stumble across one of my publications, enjoy it, and jump on the then version of the internet to try and find out about me. With so much data out there now, it's possible they will know more about me than I do. They may even read this.

Hello, future reader!

But ultimately, does it matter if we're remembered? Does it change anything? We won't know.

All we can do is our best, and to try to leave the world a slightly better place.

Still Writing.

I was fortunate enough to have another publication a couple of months ago. I haven't submitted anything since then, and I'm not currently writing new fiction. But that doesn't mean I'm not writing.

I've been writing quite a lot, and quite often. And I've been using pen and paper rather than sitting at a computer screen.  My work is almost all online, so I've found it more relaxing to be writing by hand. It took a little getting used to, as it has been a while since I wrote so much by hand, but it didn't take too long. My handwriting, when I focus, is a little tidier too, and much less of a scrawl.

These are a couple of projects which I've wanted to undertake for some time. And I'm making real progress.  It's unlikely they will ever be seen publicly. I never planned for them to be anything other than private. But you never know. Elements, or parts, may become incorporated into other works.

Will I write fiction again? Absolutely. But at the moment it's a matter of priorities, and I want to get through a fair chunk of these projects by the end of the year. If I need a break from them, I do have some older stories which need rewriting, as well as a few notebooks full of ideas, thoughts and random observations. A completely new story is not out of the picture.

But for now I hand write my projects. And I am really enjoying the process.

Whoosh!

This year seems to be rushing past. It's already late August, and it shouldn't be!

I suppose in reflection, I can see a lot that I have achieved so far in 2022, and yet there was so much more I wanted to do.  Work has been busy, but then when isn't it? Projects around the house, renovating and maintenance. They never seem to end. At least there is great satisfaction when we see the finished product, something we've both worked hard to achieve.

I have a few things in my planner to look forward to in the latter part of this year. There are trips, visits, and even a convention in there. I'm rather excited about all of these.

A new story dues for publication early next year has lifted my spirits no end. I was also privileged to have the editor not only tell me how good the story was, but also that he was making it the featured story for that issue.  Always nice to have a cover. 

So there is more writing to be done. I must write more stories, but beyond that I am currently involved in four other secret writing projects. Lovely things which will bring me great joy. Two are quite labour intensive, but the rewards will be intense.

Winter is coming, and already the mornings are darker and evenings are drawing in. That's not necessarily a bad thing, as I quite enjoy the seasons. But it does mean there is more time suitable to not be sitting outside but inside and writing.
 

Sometimes we need to take the motivation where we can find it.

Another Story On Its Way.

Way back in March, I submitted a story to a magazine - my first in a year or more.

And on the weekend it sold. The Leviathan Awakens will be publish in early 2023.

I'm pretty excited about this one. It's a story I really, really like, and it's going to a good home. The Martian Wave (Hiraeth Publications) is a new market for me, and I'm thrilled to have this story under their banner.

The Leviathan Awakens has its roots in a painting a friend did way back in the 80s. When he showed me the painting I had a tiny idea. I wasn't a writer then so nothing came of it. But that idea never went away, and kept niggling
and niggling. And then, a few years ago, I was at a writing workshop and I had to write an opening paragraph in a particular style. That opening paragraph became the opening to this story which started to develop in my mind.

The paragraph I wrote at that workshop was well received, but is now gone. In the context of the story, it confused things too much and so was completely rewritten. It's a shame, as that was a paragraph I really liked, and I thought worked really well. The readers, not so much.

And so, of course, I need to dive back in and get another story happening. Which is good, as I just had this little idea on the weekend.

And So We Wait

So I rewrote, proofread and sent that story off. And I haven't heard anything yet.

Back when I was a new writer, I sent off my first "real" submission, and after about three days watched my inbox anxiously. Oh, how naive I was.  That beast took seven months to come back to me. And even then it was a rejection. A personal one, but a rejection all the same. And seven months?  That was insane.

Still, the editor said fine things about my story, and I did rewrite it and sold it to an anthology. A couple of years later I saw this editor at a convention buying that anthology, and I laughed and told him that I always knew he would buy my story. We always got one well, and he chuckled at that one.

My current story is still out in the wild and still no word. I have subbed to this editor before. He usually only takes about two months but we're closing on three months as I write this and waiting is difficult. I have some confidence it will sell, although I never count on that happening. It would, however, be nice to have this story published.

Oh well, the waiting continues and continues. Tomorrow and the next day and the one after that - I'll be here checking my inbox.  

And as always, any publication details will be announced here

Back to Writing.

I've been working on a story.

True, it's a rewrite rather than a fresh story, but it's a major rewrite with restructures and plot changes. And a fairly interesting change to the ending. It's also writing - something I haven't done for enjoyment for a long while.

Most of my writing over the past few years has been academic in nature, as I undertook further studies. But that's now out of the way and I'm in the right place and space to be creative once more. I have this story I like. It's had some close calls, and last year I subbed it last minute to an anthology I wanted to be part of. They held it for a very long time, and it was only cut at the 11th hour. So eleventh hour that I woke up and saw the TOC in an announcement before I checked my emails to see the rejection.

It was a lovely rejection, and very positive, but disappointing, of course, as I had hoped to sell to this particular publisher.

Oh well.

But a month or so later I revisited this story, just to read it, and realised I had not sent the latest version. Also, it contained a few embarrassing errors.

But this story is now rewritten, and although I thought it was a fine piece before, I feel it is all the better now.

And so it's back into the internet to find a suitable market. I have a couple in mind. But before it goes anywhere, I'll wait a week and give it another read.

I mean, I wouldn't want to send out a story that contained too many mistakes now, would I?

Some Things New Under the Sun.

According to a quick search on google, and clicking on the first site that appeared, this year is the Chinese year of the Water Tiger. And apparently this means it will bring a confident and authoritative energy to us all, as tigers are aggressive, tenacious, ambitious, competitive, and strong.

I suppose there is something quite zen about my approach to this "research", and perhaps I lucked out and it's entirely accurate. But I must admit to feeling rather optimistic about this coming year.

Now, this may simply be down to a few factors, such as moving home recently, having my desk at a large window where I can look out over a garden, watching Spring arrive and flowers appear in this garden, a couple of opportunities arising in my job, and several personal events which have all been positive. It could, however, be argued that some of these are the result of the Tiger Year, or it could be these coincidental and seasonal events have shaped my world view.

Does it really matter?

Ultimately, I have a renewed confidence in things. My head is in a good space, and I have several things to look forward to. Sure, the pandemic is still all around, and there are other matters close to my heart and mind which concern me, but overall, things are pretty good.

Once again I have tentative plans for writing, music and publishing. Plans also extend into a few other areas as well. I have some travel plans, some visitor plans (receiving, that is), and social plans. Not all of these will eventuate, but I have high hopes for some of them.

In the Fortean world, I've seen an increase in reports and documentaries on UFOs. And I've seen some state that this year is the year of disclosure, that there will be leaked and official videos and documentation, that this could be the year that governments admit cover-ups and long term knowledge of UAPs and EBEs. That we have the technology, and we have made first contact.

It would be nice, I think, to know that there are others out there. I believe there are. Have they visited us? Do the governments know this? I don't know, but if they do, then it's time to be more open.

[hums the five note sequence from Close Encounters]

Will they disclose? Will I write and sell a story this year? Will my other plans come to fruition?

The truth is out there.

Shhhhh. The Secret Project.

I'm working on a secret project at the moment. Nobody has told me it's a secret, and there's nothing particularly special about it. But for personal reasons, I choose not to share it at this time.

It's something I've thought about for a long time now and have decided to take the plunge. It's something writing relating I want to do for my own enjoyment, and I guess for my own benefit, and it's something which I will enjoy.

I often see writers post on social media that they're working on a secret project. I must admit to sometimes wondering why the project is secret. Is it because they've been asked not to talk about it, or because it might not eventuate, or are they simply trying to build an air of mystery around the life of a writer?

Yes, I get curious when they post about these projects, but I don't ever really remember any later official announcement that made me thing "Aha! That's what they were working on!" But don't worry, I will share this project when the time is right. I'll even make it easy for you to identify and recognise by starting with, "Do you remember that secret project I mentioned?"

I might have to swear a couple of people to secrecy, though, as there are elements that will require advice and guidance.  Does any know where I left the cone of silence?

Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud.

Last week was good. I went to Norfolk for a week, staying in a lovely stone cottage. I managed to catch up with an old friend, ate lovely food, drank some wine, had some of the local beer, and went for walks with my wife and puppy.  I also visited Holt and Norwich, two of my favourite places. Visited some vinyl shops and made some purchases, and generally enjoyed myself on the Norfolk coast.

But, as George Harrsion once famously (and bravely) told some Californian Hells Angels when they came to visit and asked him if he "dug" them, "Yin and yang, heads and tails, yes and no."

Clouds, silver linings, and all that. 

Some sobering news, some plans gone astray and some other disappointments. It all balances, doesn't it? At least, I hope it does.

None of this is world shattering, and there are many in far worse positions.

I woke up this morning to a rejection. Due to circumstances, I haven't submitted any stories for a while, but I managed to get this one out during an extremely busy time. I watched as Submission Grinder and Duotrope counted down through their recorded submissions, until there were very few left standing. I started to have hopes I was in the last few, which it turned out I was. Unfortunately I didn't quite make it past the very final cut.

How final? The Table of Contents was announced within a couple of hours of my rejection being sent to me, and I saw the TOC before I'd managed to check my emails.

This is a story I love, and a publisher I regard highly, so it was disppointing to say the least. But I managed to receive a personal and quite lovely rejection.

But onwards and upwards, send it out again, and hope for the best.

More Passionate, More Emotive.

Over the past few years I have noticed in blogs and other social media, that a reader was so upset or angered by a book that they threw it across the room. 

I usually wonder if this is literal or metaphorical.

Did they really fling the book across the room? I certainly hope it wasn't a large hardback with a cat on the receiving end. The way it usually reads, though, I suspect that whether they did or did not throw the book, they want us to think they did. And the only reason I can see for this is to show how much they love books, how much the written word speaks to them, and just how passionate and emotive they are.

OK, if that's your measure, then you win. I don't throw books, no matter how much I don't like them.

I can get lost in books and music. I have stood in an audience, listening to a band with eyes closed, and just allowed it to wash over me. Simply standing there, a smile on my face, and a moment that transcends. 

The same with books.

I've read through tiredness and beyond any realistic ability to comprehend the words simply because I loved it so much, was removed from this reality so far, and didn't want to lose it.

Yes, they move me - but not every album or book will. There are books I've persevered with and finished because I was determined to do so, but others I've just given up. I am much less forgiving with music but that's partly because I can skip ahead, sampling tracks, then remove the disc from the player before assigning it to a charity shop bag.

And then, like the above example reader, there are the books I don't like because they frustrate me or anger me. Depending on the context I may continue for a bit, or close it and return for another attempt, or simply stop at that point. But never, not once, have I thrown the book across the room.

But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps there are those who truly have thrown books across the room in anger.  I'm just glad I wasn't at your place when there was a TV show that angered you.

I have no desire to be hit by a large flying flat-screen.

Whistle While You Work.

I have never really listened to music while I work. As a teacher, I couldn't really do so in the classroom. Even while marking I found it distracted me. And this was also true of listening to music as I write. I didn't choose to listen to music in my last position in administration. In the office, it would have meant earphones, and I preferred to be able to hear what was happening around me and to be sure when my phone was ringing.

Last week, however, I started playing music in the background while working, My role has changed, and I have found that gentle music calms me as I create content. There are some tasks which require a great deal of focus, and so off it goes. I can't focus on certain tasks and enjoy the music.

It's been great catching up on some recent music I hadn't had the opportunity to check out properly. And to play old favourites I hadn't heard in a while.

Will I start listening to music when I return to the office?  I don't know. It may just feel wrong. Time will tell, although I don't anticipate it will be anytime soon.

In the meantime, I'm going to throw on the latest album from Dystopian Future Movies.  Lovely!

Write, Rewrite, Submit.

I submitted a story recently. It has been a while since I sent one out into the wilderness, but a market appeared before me, I had a story that suit and so off it went.

It's been a while since I wrote anything new. I wrote this story a couple of years ago, and never really sent it out. I received great feedback from a reader, who really liked it. I left it for a while and re-read it with fresh eyes, then re-structured it to make a better story. And then it sat on the hard disk for close to a year until a few weeks ago when I sent it on its way.

Will the editor like it as much as I do? I can never be sure unless they buy it. Even if they reject it, they may add a note about what they thought of it. And it might be one they love but it doesn't fit in with the collection they are preparing.

On the other hand, I might receive a standard for rejection, which leaves you none the wiser as to what they thought of it.

Ultimately it makes little difference, apart from the bruising to your ego and your own hurt feelings. And this can really hurt when you read the final product (from which you were excluded) and really hate some of the stories.  "Why?", you shriek as you raise your fist to the darkening sky and curse the editor, the publisher and the other authors.  And then you get on with your day and make your toast for breakfast.

But hopefully I'll hear soon, and the bonus will be an acceptance.

Snapshot 2020.

The Australian SF scene has now been snapshot for the sixth time. Every few years since 2005, a series of interviews is conducted with authors, artists, publishers and others involved in Australian SF.

Snapshot 2020 is currently being published, and my interview was released this morning. While the past year or so of writing and publishing has been quieter than usual for me, I have had publications. Due to other commitments, writing is currently on the backburner. But I am still making plans, still making notes, and will emerge at the end of the year ready to write more frequently.

Explore the site. Check out the interviews. Read mine. And links to my previous interviews can be found under 'Steve's Links' in the menu on the right of this screen.

Thanks to Tehani Croft for taking on this mammoth task.

The Walls Around Me.

I've been working from home for a few weeks now, and whereas others on social media seem to be looking for ways to remain entertained, I don't feel like I have enough free time.

I work in Digital Education for a University, and during this crisis we have been busier than we usually are as we assisted academics in getting their courses online in a hurry. Now we're focussing on assessments, as exams aren't possible, and how they're going to be handled remotely.

And in between times, I continue my studies. And so I'm planning to take a couple of days over Easter to do nothing. Got to stay sane.

I'll read, watch some film, and spend time with my wife.

We exercise daily - either going for a bike ride or a longish walk, as is legally permitted. We're doing our best to follow the guidelines and not go out. Only one of us goes to the shops, and that's generally once a week and only to get our essentials. I still hear of people ignoring the rules. Not only are they risking their own wellbeing, but the health of others around them.

Am I going stir crazy?  A little. I don't mind being at home. I wish I could devote more time to reading and writing fiction, but I have commitments and responsibilities at the moment.

In the meantime, I sure hope NASA is paying attention to the psyche of the people as it plans for 2 year missions to Mars.

I think I'll stay at home and watch it on TV.