Greg Egan (born 20 August 1961) is an Australian science fiction writer.
Australian SF book publishing has undergone a boom recently, and sometimes it's easier for new writers to sell a book to a local publisher first, which then makes a US edition more likely.
On his eighteenth day in the tiger cage, Robert Stoney began to lose hope of emerging unscathed.
Mathematics catalogues everything that is not self-contradictory; within that vast inventory, physics is an island of structures rich enough to contain their own beholders.
I've supported myself by writing since 1992, and I'm probably very nearly unemployable by now because employers are likely to be put off by the long gap.
Screw every known human culture.
No one grows up. That's one of the sickest lies they ever tell you. People change. People compromise. People get stranded in situations they don't want to be in… and they make the best of it. But don't try to tell me it's some kind of… glorious preordained ascent into emotional maturity. It's not.
You know what they say the modern version of Pascal's Wager is? Sucking up to as many Transhumanists as possible, just in case one of them turns into God.
For there is a truth which cannot be bought or sold, imposed by force, resisted or escaped.
Everyone here would die for the sake of truth. Everyone here lies constantly for the tiniest chance of personal gain. This is what it means to be a scientist.
The Universe may be stranger than we can imagine, but it's going to have a tough time outdoing Egan.
I hadn't given much thought to the prospect of a Hugo nomination at the time it happened, but obviously once you're nominated, winning one seems a bit less far-fetched than before.
I've been taking longer to write stories lately.
Widespread caffeine use explains a lot about the twentieth century.
I admire David Lynch so much, and I think he made some bad decisions with Lost Highway.
No, that’s journalism. The truth is whatever you can’t escape.
Fandom is about fandom, it's a great big social club.
Pop science goes flying off in all kinds of fashionable directions, and it often drags a lot of SF writers with it. I've been led astray like that myself at times.
Diaspora starts about a thousand years from now. Most of human civilisation has moved inside computers; essentially, a major branch of our descendants consists of conscious software.
I think new writers everywhere need opportunities to get published.
Nobody wants to spend eternity alone.