SPOILERS: Not everyone gets out alive.
Not so much reluctant as squeamish.
Dearly beloved, I’ve been asked to say a few words.
Look, I want cool costumes, technobabble, and someone pondering humanity’s place in the universe.
Those goddamn bugs keep whacking us and sucking our brains out.
You need to understand the giant space insect before you can understand yourself.
Marginally more than absolutely nothing.
Laws, sausages, and The Killbug Eulogies: learn how all three got made. (Except the first two.)
Observations on the emotional relationship between fiction authors and their stories.
Is it because the scariest things are the ones closest to home? Or am I just crap at cooking?