The problem is, I can write wonderful SF shorts, but I can't get the impetus to build a world for a long project. If I try, I inevitably end up confusing the world-building with the way I would hope the world would go. And that's far too fucking optimistic. Not only because the science for some of it is rather out there, but because it requires massive shifts in human nature. And that leads me to a conclusion: I can't write long science fiction.
The Asimov and the Clarke are too simple. They didn't predict the vast leaps and bounds that human intelligence has covered in the last three years, let alone the last thirty. Most classic SF takes that route and really it isn't a path I'm interested in. Oooh, people in spaceships blowing each other up just like in the skies over London during the Battle of Fucking Britain. We're talking about mounting chemical lasers on aircraft carriers and using satellite-dropped kinetic impact missiles yet for some reasons space fighters still duke it out et cetera et cetera. No way. I find Tesla's theories and psionic teleportation more plausible than the idea that we monkeys will be re-fighting the air-duels of the second half of the 20th century in a couple of thousand years time. The idea's got to be a joke, or an easy out for hacks with no real understanding of how fast we're progressing.
There was a lot more to this rant, but it was self-indulgent prattling that didn't stand up to even a cursory re-read, so it's elided. Fiction to follow instead.
: The more I find myself secretly wanting something to happen in the back of my mind, or worse the more people I tell about something the less likely it is to happen. I had to brainwash myself into thinking I'd got a third to get a real degree result, I swear.