Today I bought a table. Its the final piece of furniture for my new home. Which is the first real home I have had since I was eighteen. Thats my own damn fault, for taking thirteen years to realise that a home is made, not found. The table is important, because it is where I am writing this. Over the years I have written in cafes, libraries, train stations, shopping malls, airplanes, buses, offices and many more places, anywhere other then wherever I happened to be living. But now I have a home I am comfortable writing in, and a table to write at. Continue reading Why do we write this SF stuff?