Recently I had the privilege of meeting an author I’ve greatly admired for a long time – Ursula Le Guin. She was impossibly tiny and obviously tired, but her eyes shone out from under her grey bob and she spoke about her latest work of poetry (Out Here) and the Eastern Oregon landscape that inspired it in a thoughtful, deliberate manner. In response to my stating that I was a 20-year fan, that I had originally encountered her in Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine, and I was wondering what she was working on next – she said that no stories were coming to her lately. No stories! She seemed puzzled and a bit sad about that. But she said she had discovered blogging, even though she used to scorn it – and that’s what she was working on right now. A great mind that produced so many thought-provoking tales. That will craft in ways I can never aspire too. And no stories are coming to her. I’m crying over Ursula’s lost stories.