Arctic Rising’s bleak, ice-free, near-future earth satisfies my hunger for a good technothriller just as well as Crichton, Koontz, or Brown always have.
Thank you, Anne McCaffrey.
The value of short fiction isn’t something a reader can decide, nor is it something the authors and industry can, either. It’s a system of checks and balances that has been out of whack for a very long time.
No, I’m not asking you to teach my illiterate self how to find meaning in the written word, rather I want to know how you find yourself gobbling up the wordy goodness you love.