I've Always Loved Science Fiction. I Think

Writing Is Almost A Place Of Dreams For Me, And I Don't Have To Give Up Anything To Do It.

That’s How Ptolemy Imagined The Disposition Of His Memories, His Thoughts: They Were Still His, Still In The Range Of His Thinking, But They Were, Many And Most Of Them, Locked On The Other Side A Closed Door That He’s Lost The Key For. So His Memory Became Like Secrets Held Away From His Own Mind. But These Secrets Were Noisy Things; They Babbled And Muttered Behind The Door, And So If He Listened Closely He Might Catch A Snatch Of Something He Once Knew Well.

All Of The Philosophers I Studied Were White (with A Few Eastern Exceptions), And, For That Matter, They Were All Male. Africa, The Cradle Of Civilization, Seemed To Have No Footing In The Highest Form Of Human Thought.

At One Time If You Were A Black Writer You Had To Be One Of The Best Writers In The World To Be Published. You Had To Be Great. Now You Can Be Good. Mediocre. And That's Good.

Every Day That We Wake Up Is A Good Day. Every Breath That We Take Is Filled With Hope For A Better Day. Every Word That We Speak Is A Chance To Change What Is Bad Into Something Good.