I meant to write in the science fiction genre on Sunday; instead, I wrote a little fantasy.
As I have said often in the past, I am not a reader of McCaffrey and her famous Dragonriders, of Donita K. Paul or Bryan Davis, nor of any other series of dragon tales, and did not set out to include dragons in my fantasy. One day--or, rather, one night, since the scene in the first manuscript occurs after nightfall--a dragon flew overhead, seeking one of the major characters, and became so integral to the plot that I could not dislodge him.
Due to story requirements, he has since become she; and, as the writing has progressed over the years, I've learned interesting things about the species: surprisingly human in rivalries, humors, and intelligence, and with a variety of skills divided among the clans. If my dragons resemble those of another writer, it will be by chance and not intention. Well, aside from Puff of folk music fame, the only dragon who can truly be said to bear a resemblance to mine is Smaug, who was intelligent and darkly funny, and fired my childhood imagination. The scene between him and Bilbo Baggins is one of my favorites in The Hobbit.