Every once in a while, I get this idea that I could be this great science fiction author. I’ll write a story that follows the hero’s journey, where the hero is my self-insertion: a witty genius with a sexy body, l33t hacker skills, and backdoors into every computer system this side of the equator.
So then what happens? I begin writing, and finish a few pages. Yay. But then some Vernor Vinge novel comes along and says, “You haven’t read me yet! You haven’t read me yet! La de da de daaaa! La de da de daaaa!” And then I start to read it and I’m all like, “How could I possibly think I was at a high enough caliber to write science fiction?” Vernor Vinge is the kind of author who just makes you feel bad for even considering writing.
Lately, I’ve been reading Rainbows End, and now I’m starting to feel the shame again. I’ve only read a few pages, and I can just feel the future buzzing on the horizon.
So that’s that. I had to bloge something today. I guess I’ll write a full-blown review of it at some point in time.