I'm not normally a sci-fi buff but a copy of Phillip K. Dick's Blade Runner (Do Andriods Dream of Electric Sheep) had been calling out to me for years, so I finally opened it up. To be honest, I can't recall why I had the book in the first place. I loved the movie; it's one of my favorites of all time, but it wasn't the sci-fi or steam punk that hooked me. It was the desolation and quiet that I loved.

Being a bit of a mystic, I respected and listened to the fact that this book just fell in front of me recently.

It was an amazing read, possibly because it fits a particular tone I need for my current work. There is a sadness and drone-like quality to the lead character, a bounty hunter. He must also face the possibility of there being nothing greater than himself in the Universe, an abysmal prospect for most. All of this was handled well though surprisingly not with perfection which, in an odd way, comforted me, possibly because it heartens me I can achieve the stillness and emptiness I need for parts of my novel.

Despite the imperfection of the writing, I feel I may be entering a Phillip K. Dick stage. There's something intangible about his writing that I'm driven to learn, something that I haven't felt since reading Camus and Suskind in the 80s. Reading Dick's work has been a coming home of sorts.