I’ve been asked quite a few times now why I decided to write about space and, so, ok, here’s the answer.
I’m not sure really but my best guess is that it has something to do with writing at night. And also living on the Costa del Sol. I mean, there’s only so many times you can find yourself outside, at two o’clock in the morning, when (in the summer anyway) it’s still mid-thirties degrees centigrade, and the sky is utterly, completely, epicly cloudless and there is just this like DIAMOND MINE of stars above you before you just succumb. You succumb and you’re like, OK OK I get it, you want me to think about you, you want me to consider you, you want me to start thinking about why we don’t know more about you yet, and whether we’re alone with all this awesome.
But you know, that’s not all there is to it. Not entirely. It’s no coincidence that I’m thirty seven years old – the same age as Star Wars, the same age as Close Encounters of the Third Kind, the same age as Voyager 1 and its golden record, now headed out across the space that separates our solar system from its nearest neighbours.
Looking at it this way it was almost inevitable that it would permeate my consciousness the way it has. Looking at it this way, the real questions is how could I NOT write about space.