How did you first become interested in writing? Is it something you always had a passion for, or did it grow on you over time?
I’ve always been interested in writing, though it started out as corny poetry as a child. I started writing science fiction in high school in the early 1990s when I couldn't find any true science fiction in the book store anymore. I was never interested in alternate realities or Gaia-earth connection or fantasy, which is most of what came out at that time.

“You lied to me every step of the way!” Leha stared impassively at Joshua as he tumbled with the forward momentum of his vicious attack. “You’re not human!” he screamed as he fell. His knife blade had ripped only flesh-foam and her clothing; nothing critical was affected. As he fell, the knife turned a little inward, so that the tip tore into his gut when his weight fell upon it.

Incoming situation update for Officer Torey.

I cover my hesitation by looking in my handbag for my perfume, which I spray around me in a flurry of activity.

The news is delivered by the department computer. It is a low male voice in my brain, enabled by the implant which was fitted on my first day on the job, and I feel a mixture of fear and determination at the words I hear.

Let's go.

Words mouthed not spoken, seen not heard. You come to yourself in the midst of a party in an unfamiliar room, a florid face leaning into yours--a graying beard like mangy squirrel curled around the mouth, tobacco-stained teeth flashing yellowed squirrel bone. Flat pale eyes crackling enthusiasm.

Something inside you squirms, but you yield. A meaty hand on your arm draws you from your seat. Reluctant traces of your high drop to your feet. Cold breakers of flesh crash against you as you sway through a sea of bodies, dozens of bodies, people talking eating laughing dancing: a throng pulsing to the rhythm of music unheard, cased in silence as thick as January ice.

Immediate opening: Global force seeks CEO. Must have leadership experience, ruthless ambition & complete lack of morals. Horde of bloodthirsty minions a plus, but not necessary.

The door of Chaledon Greev's study creaked open, and a figure in black glided into the room. Its cloak absorbed the lamplight, leaving a dark shadow in the midst of the golden glow. A hood hid the being's face, and it made no sound as it came to a halt in front of the huge mahogany desk.