I love good science fiction with a consuming passion.
I loved Star Trek. TNG, I mean, not TOS. Kirk blows, Picard rocks, game over. I didn’t hate DS9 after the war with the Dominion started, Voyager worked after Seven came on board, and Q has all the best lines whatever quadrant he’s in. And as regular readers of this blog already know, I loved the new Star Trek Film.
Now I’m suffering the separation anxiety that came with the end of Battlestar Galactica, one of the best shows in any genre ever on television. For one thing, my god, the cast! The gravitas Edward James Olmos, Mary McDonnell, Michael Hogan, Katee Sackoff and the rest bring to their roles is devastatingly convincing. For another thing, the writing! If I ever write a whole book as good as just one episode of this show (“Occupation” — “Take your time,” Starbuck says, and cuts her steak with hands still wet from the blood of the Leoben she’s just slain. Shriek!) I will die a happy woman. I even listened to the Galactica Watercooler podcast.
I read sf, too. Over the years I’ve been slowly collecting all my favorite Heinleins in hardcover (not firsts, can’t afford ‘em, but the Scribner, Tor and Ace reprints), and I advocate the work of Steven Gould like it was my own.
(Don’t let Jumper the movie turn you off Jumper the novel, which is superb. Gould has given a lot of thought to what it would be like to teleport.)
Lately I’ve been tearing through Elizabeth Moon’s Vatta and Serrano books at light speed, a series of space opera arias that never miss a note. (Here’s my Amazon review of her Once a Hero.)
So that’s it, that’s my dirty little secret. I’m a geek. Can I be a geek if I’m a girl?
