Steve Tyler Lawson

In grade school, I was showered with epithets such as weird, dork, geek, and fag. At the time, they hurt, but now I consider them mere philistine interpretations of my unconventional behavior and eclectic interests: science, science fiction, electronics, computers, spirituality, and the cosmos both within and beyond Earth’s atmosphere. When I became interested in girls and they made it clear they weren’t interested in me, those other interests provided a comforting diversion. Though my interests made me a pariah—and though I chose to be angry about it—I never abandoned my curiosity. I coped with the pressure to conform by becoming quiet and reserved.

I populated my secret world with comic books: The Amazing Spider-Man, The Spectacular Spider-Man, and Marvel Team-Up with Spider-Man. Okay, yeah, I was obsessed with Spider-Man—but also Doctor Strange, The Incredible Hulk, The Fantastic Four, The Tick, and, of course, Groo. There were many more, but you get the idea.

Other than comic books and my science magazines, I eschewed recreational reading—probably due to the Dick and Jane Incident. I still remember sitting in a circle with my fellow first graders, each of us holding, in our laps, a copy of Dick and Jane. The teacher expected us to read aloud, one after the other, around the circle. Soon it was my turn.

See Jane run.

Run, Jane, run.

Look, look at Spot.

See Spot run—

I paused, looked up with a smirk, and said, Perhaps they all have the runs—which got me banished to the corner.

Actually, my primary-school insubordination began earlier. All my kindergarten report cards were marked unsatisfactory, and my rebellion continued throughout grade school. At home, I played with my chemistry set, assembled the Things of Science kits mailed to our door, and devoured Nature & Science magazine. In my mid-teens, I took up electronics and computer design, which provided a career for the next few decades.

At school, bored, I sculpted figures from modeling clay in the book well beneath my desk. I also sold Creepy Crawlers (rubbery plastic critters) to my classmates when the teacher wasn’t looking. I manufactured them at home with my Mattel Thingmaker—I can still smell the Plasti-Goop fumes.

If you’re noticing a trend, you’re right: I essentially educated myself—a mode of learning that extended into my adult life, when I passed myself off first as an electronics technician and later as a software engineer. Later on, I was diagnosed with a learning disability, so if I ever get my hands on a time machine, I plan to go back and vindicate my young self.

I regarded homework as an invasion of my personal space and rebelled against it on principle.

It wasn’t until my eleventh birthday that I discovered recreational reading. My favorite grandfather—who was soon to become even more beloved—gave me S Is for Space by Ray Bradbury.

I loved that book. Its short stories ignited my imagination. Once I learned that I could borrow books for free, I rushed to the local library and filled out an application for a library card.

I devoured R Is for Rocket and The Illustrated Man. I couldn’t stuff the words into my eyeballs fast enough. After that, I plowed through the works of Robert A. Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Lester del Rey, Frank Herbert, and J. R. R. Tolkien. I discovered Philip K. Dick later in life, but he also deserves a place in that lineup.

Yeah, I was weird, and I still am—probably because my inner rebel dares to step in the unthinkable and wipes it on the improbable while madly imbibing the absurd. I build science fiction and fantasy worlds with quirky characters informed by decades of observing humanity from the shadows, like a flower on a wall. My mind is the fool who rushes into what most minds are fleeing.

Essentially, I’m an agnostic hermit who appreciates Buddhism as a guide to common decency and wishes people would simply live and let live. And I write stories centered on the examination of why that refuses to be.

Also, I suspect I’m on the autism spectrum, which would explain a lot.