Sometimes writing is about listening. I was strolling along Oxford’s Cowley Road. A young man walked past me, and turned, asking why I used crutches. Having a brain cyst and balance problems makes them useful, so I let him know this. That’s when the dialogue veered into the unfamiliar.
I used to think there was a rule. Many science fiction short stories followed the rule, any remaining suck out. The template was simple, two or three paragraphs of introduction, introducing strangeness to the reader, a new environment, an action you couldn’t do on Earth. There followed another section, filling in backstory, an alternative history…