My name is Sally, and I’m an SF-aholic.
Hi Sally.
You want my story? (The story of me or the stories I write? Today it’s me.) I got my first taste of SF when I was just a child: the sweet, tangy flavors of Walter Farley’s The Island Stallion, a charming and quite stirring (for an 8 year old) tale of horses, alien shapeshifters and space ships. My parents encouraged me to imbibe healthier fare (Trixie Belden books spring to mind… so where’s the healthy exactly?) but that one taste had me hooked.
I resisted for quite a few years, mostly due to peer pressure, but then, one day in hospital after giving birth to my first child, the library lady came trundling by my bedside with a cart bearing Robert Silverberg’s The Time Hoppers. I was in a weakened state. It called to me more loudly than the Harlequins and mysteries around it. I went for it like an alkie with a big, big thirst. That book turned me into a full-blown SF-aholic.
It’s a disease. No doubt about it. In the way alcoholics love to talk about their drinking days, and over-eaters anonymous members revel in reminiscing about cheeseburgers past, we who love science fiction and fantasy flock together to share our joy. As Spider Robinson says: Shared joy is increased, shared pain lessened. And it’s painful to go without a good sf fix for too long.
For me it was always about the books. Sci-fi movies are generally laughable at worst, okay at best, with the occasional rise to greatness (Star Wars-The Empire Strikes Back; Blade Runner, Galaxy Quest (Yes, Galaxy Quest dammit!). But the books! Dune, Red Mars, The Stars My Destination, A Canticle for Leibowitz, The Lathe of Heaven, Neuromancer, Starship Troopers, Ringworld… by God it’s like a bar where the drinks flow freely and the bartender can put his hand on a bottle of the very finest stuff. And open it just for you.
And the best thing is—people are still writing the stuff! And loving it. And passing it around like a doobie.. but that’s a whole other addiction. I’ll stick to the SF, thanks very much.