SF writer Gary Gibson

So finally, finally, the intense and nearly overwhelming pain of sciatica and a possibly herniated spinal column has faded enough - almost totally(!), at least for the past couple of hours - that I got some serious writing done on Stealing Light, almost two and a half thousand words. I found a new 'non painful' position to sit in that seems to have done the trick, except this being me, of course, I now have a mild case of heartburn from sitting in the same position for almost two hours. Arse.

Taleswapper has written a wonderful little piece on Against Gravity here. If only all book reviews could be this much fun (review? Commentary? I don't know, but it's certainly entertaining):

"Great Uncle, let me in!" I say to the door.
"I'm sorry," he says through the phone. "I can't do that."
"What's wrong, Great Uncle?" I say to the door. "I've come to discuss this book with you. Remember? Did you read it?"
He responds, but I've been talking to the door and have forgotten the phone. I put the lobe back to the phone and ask him to repeat.
"Go away," he says, leaving me stranded.
"You're not upset about the book are you?" I shout to the door. Maybe I can embarrass him into letting me in. He might not want anyone to know he actually reads, and he certainly wouldn't want anyone to think he's responsible for a little civil unrest. "You know it's just a book, right? It's got nothing to do with reality."
"I hardly think," he replies soberly (through the phone), "that you are one to lecture me on 'reality'."
"Oh, Great Uncle," I say. "This is America. You can't really imagine that a president would use a terrorist attack as an excuse to whip a religious support base into a frenzy and then start trampling on our civil liberties, can you?"
There is no response from Leadbelly. Maybe that wasn't the best argument. Two apartments down the hall, a door opens and an elderly woman peers out. She darts her head about like a nervous mouse. I shyly wave, but she pops her head back in and shuts the door. Did I see someone slip out behind her and run down the hall? Nobody runs that fast, surely.
"C'mon Great Uncle," I say. "You like law and order. You're all into supporting the government and junk. They're not going to arrest you and take you away to some secret warren in the jungle. You've never done anything that would catch their attention."

There's an equally entertaining piece here on Al's Vellum.