Meanwhile, the band members were busy. They were saving the world. They mentioned this pretty often, although all they seemed to do was drink beer, smoke Marlboros, watch TV, and raid the kitchen. They all loved TV. They'd missed thirteen years of it, and everything fascinated them.
We're all sharing the same streets, the same landmarks, and in some cases even the same characters . . . but we see them in different ways. And, to me, that makes for fascinating fiction.
I can remember reading Bordertown stories and looking up from the page to find certain familiar streets suddenly holding the possibility of leading me into new and strange places...
We've all encountered people who won't read—or scorn those who do read—science fiction and fantasy because they are insufficiently "true" and "real." Teenagers, especially, are taught that they'll grow out of fantastic fiction as they leave that silly fake stuff behind. It's the kind of thing that makes me roll my eyes, and then want to interrogate the notions of reality and truth as applied to young adult fiction. So, what the hey, let's give that a go.
My eldest son has brought me home / his father's head. / I have not asked him how / or what or who it cost, / but I have used it in a charm.