George R.R. Martin was born in Bayonne, New Jersey, on September 20, 1948. His father was a longshoreman, Raymond Collins Martin, and Margaret Brady Martin was his mother. He's got two sisters including Darleen Martin Lapinski and Janet Martin Patten. Martin attended school for Mary Jane Donohoe and high school for Marist. He started writing very young, selling monster stories for pennies to other kids in the neighborhood, including dramatic read... ings. He later became a high school comic book fan and collector and started writing fiction for comic fanzines. Martin's first professional sale was made at the age of 21 in 1970: "The Hero," sold to Galaxy, published in February 1971 issue. There followed other sales. Martin graduated from Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, with a B.S. in Journalism in 1970. In 1971, he completed an M.S. in Journalism, also from the Northwest. Martin did alternative service with VISTA, attached to the Cook County Legal Assistance Foundation, in 1972-1974 as a conscientious objector. He also directed Continental Chess Association chess tournaments from 1973-1976 and from 1976-1978 was a Journalism instructor at Clarke College, Dubuque, Iowa. He wrote part-time throughout the 1970s as a VISTA volunteer, chess director, and teacher. He was married to Gale Burnick in 1975. They divorced without kids in 1979. Martin became a full-time writer in 1979. From 1978 to 1979 he was a writer-in-residence at Clarke College. After moving to Hollywood, Martin signed in 1986 as a story editor for the Twilight Zone at CBS Television. In 1987, Martin was appointed Executive Story Consultant for Beauty and the Beast at CBS. In 1988, he became a producer for Beauty and the Beast, then moved to Co-Supervising Producer in 1989. He was Doorways' Executive Producer, a pilot he wrote for the 1992-93 filmed Columbia Pictures Television. Martins' present home is Santa Fe, New Mexico. He is a member of America's Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers (he was South-Central Regional Director 1977-1979 and Vice President 1996-1998) and of America's Writers Guild, West. The author/george of http://us.macmillan.com..READ MORE
The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real ... for a moment at least ... that long magic moment before we wake. Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true? We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth.
Margaery, you're clever, be a dear and tell your poor old half-daft grandmother the name of that queer fish from the Summer Isles that puffs up to ten times its own size when you poke it." "They call them puff fish, Grandmother." "Of course they do. Summer Islanders have no imagination.