The tedium of a long train journey to Chicago interrupted by a strange platform ritual I'll never quite forget.
I thought that an ant farm would be a safe and untraumatic introduction to the responsibilities of caring for other lives.
It’s not often that I am obliged to correct Stephen Hawking.
Hawking, Elon Musk, and others I rarely advise, along with Bill Gates, who should have listened, have warned that humanity’s freedom or survival will be at risk when Artificial Intelligence emerges. This is hardly a new fear; this is default science fiction. An AI’s motives for enslaving or destroying us are often thin, so we’ll just call it The Dramatically-Satisfying Case Against Letting Humans Live.
Here's a preview of a story I wrote in about 2006. I wasn't sure what to do with it: it is not [spoiler alert] science fiction; but it presumes that the reader is quite familiar with JG Ballard. Of course, Ballard should hardly be ghetto-ized as a sci-fi author... What's that you say? There's no shame in the sci-fi so-called ghetto? And you get angry at people who think the way to grant respect to an author is to pull him from his genre, rather than pull the arbiters of these things into the genre?
You. You're the reader I was looking for.
Update: there will be apparently be a "hidden track" in my upcoming novella The Man Who Remembered the Moon.
A writer already known for blaming his career choice on his parents has tried to expand the circle of responsibility. “Mavis Gallant. Graham Greene. Dostoevsky.” The list goes on.
In a novel where we learn that an airliner is made of ...
If you stick with this story, and engage with its main people, you will be rewarded...