[morriss003]

I hardly remember a time when I did not have a story to tell. I wrote my first two books when I was thirteen or fourteen. One was a SF and one was a western. Of course they were childish hormonal fantasies. But since then, more stories than I will ever write have floated through my head. Some have been entirely forgotten, I'm sure,and some will probably never be written. I probably will never get to "The Werewolves of Antarctica."
Some stories develop into worlds of their own. Really, I'm bewildered by the concept of inspiration. How can you be inspired? Aren't these people in your brain demanding to get out?
In the quiet of the night, when sleep is fleeting, I listen to them telling me their tales. Jara Mackenzie was explaining just the other night how Baylispli Tyre warned her that the banker might not be the altruistic sort. It was that warning, she said, that cause her to omit any reference to Bayli or to her brother Davud, and to listen to Racer when he noticed the two security men at the front of the lobby. So when she was forced to submit to the Family Intercession Agency, at least her brother was safe on the Lugging Nut.