My London Letter

Last week an editor in London wrote, asking me to send him a one-paragraph bio for the science fiction story he will be publishing in a spring issue.  I never know what to write in these things, but since it's science fiction we are talking about and, since Gene Roddenberry isn't around to object, I thought I'd send along something futuristic, like:

Brownsburg . . . the final frontier.  These are the stories of Todd Outcalt, whose eight year mission, thus far, has produced three graduates (including his alien wife).  He likes to think he is boldly going where no man has gone before, but in actuality his life is quite boring and is littered with mounds of 2-liter diet Coke bottles that he intends to recycle. He writes at warp speed, however, and still manages to produce five or six books in a light year, including some of the stories like the one included in this volume. Sometimes he talks to his wife, who is of the same species, and he can now converse with his son, who for many years seemed to be from a distant planet.  He has written for a starfleet of magazines recently, including works on fitness, health, nature, finances, and theology.  He also writes a dozen blog postings a week and cooks the family meals, which consist of futuristic ingredients that few people have thought to combine.  Generally, he likes to help people--as long as their phasers aren't set to "stun"--and he hopes you'll be stunned by his story here. Oh, and he lives across the pond in the U.S. of A. and some day hopes to see Liverpool and visit all the places where his daughter worked two years ago, when she spent all of his money teaching and traveling around Europe on his dime.  In the meantime, he's giving it all she's got and can't get any more power out of his fifty-one year old mainframe.  Later, when he dies, he hopes to be beamed aboard.