When the doors to outer space finally opened, the Earth somehow did not get either distant travels or galactic empires. Instead of the thunder of rockets, there is the roar of printing machines. Instead of great and lofty goals - the quiet, insinuating, stubborn voice of the writer reading out his next opus. Creativity has become the privilege of machines, not people, who have turned into mechanics from literature. Writing by hand was like eating with your fingers, or picking your nose, or going outside naked...