Voici le début de cet article dont l'intégralité est ici

"I'll start this blog by coming clean and admitting I swiped the title from a speech given in Johannesburg by my friend Dave Freer. I swiped the intention of the title, too. Dave used it to mean that the pseudo-literary aspirations of science fiction had killed what was different and interesting about the genre. He meant that classical science fiction had "fathered" him and that he meant to carry on its legacy, regardless.

My reference is more specific. Years after Robert A. Heinlein had died, my husband and I managed to—yes, it did take some work—have the child we’d been trying to conceive for six years. He was—still is!—a boy, so we named him what we had always planned to name him: Robert Anson Hoyt. Because he’d been due on the Fourth of July (I spent months singing Yankee Doodle Dandy to my belly!) when—incidentally—labor started, we didn't realize the significance of his birth date on the seventh. Not until my husband called my brother and told him the name of his brand new nephew. My brother said, "Oh. And on Heinlein's birthday.""