When I was twelve, I discovered both libraries and science fiction at the same time. The dusty anthologies, John Wyndham, and the town librarians who always knew exactly what I should read next opened an entire universe for me. For Librarian Day, a thank you to the people who quietly changed my life one book at a time.
Trends come and go. One month it’s a trope, a cover style, or a subgenre everyone is chasing; six months later, the industry has already sprinted off after the next shiny object like a Labrador with three tennis balls and no self-control. At Stories Rule Press, we’ve made a different choice. We pay attention to the market, but we don’t build our catalogue around trends. We start with the story—and whether it’s the kind of world a reader can disappear into and want to return to years later.
There’s a point in many manuscripts where the story quietly pulls back. The conflict softens, the dialogue becomes safer, and characters make the reasonable choice instead of the revealing one. The result is a manuscript that is technically good—but often forgettable. The moments readers remember are rarely the comfortable ones.
Lately, Tracy and I have been watching The Americans, and it has completely hooked us. Not because of the spy story—although that’s excellent—but because everything about it feels real. The relationships are messy, the choices are complicated, and the 1980s setting feels lived in instead of staged. It’s the kind of show that doesn’t just entertain you for an hour. It lingers afterward and leaves you wondering what you would have done in the same situation.
I’ve stopped collecting books for the person I imagine I might become someday. No one can read everything anymore—not with thousands of new books appearing every day and old books never truly disappearing. So I’m changing the way I build my library: only the books I want to read now, or very soon. No more guilt-inducing digital hoards. Just books that are actually mine because I’ve read them.
Does fantasy really need to be grimdark to feel “serious”? I’m not convinced. There is a difference between a story that is painful and one that is hopeless—and somewhere along the way, fantasy seems to have forgotten it.
When writing starts to drag, the problem often isn’t laziness or lack of discipline — it’s that you’ve lost sight of what you’re writing toward. In this post, I explore the “magic cookie” method: finding the one scene, moment, or beat in your story that excites you enough to pull you through the difficult middle. Because sometimes the best cure for procrastination is knowing there’s something wonderful waiting a few chapters ahead.
Excerpt: Science fiction readers are among the people most likely to underestimate the true scale of space. We are so accustomed to faster-than-light drives, wormholes and jump gates that we forget how impossably vast the distances between stars really are. But once a writer decides how long it takes to cross those distances, every other aspect of the story changes—from politics and trade to war, culture and the kinds of stories that can be told at all.
The first quarter of the year has disappeared in a blur of drafts, edits, releases and looming deadlines—business as usual at Stories Rule Press. Mark is deep into the next Thomas Billings thriller, Tracy is preparing new fiction and nonfiction releases, Taylen is starting an all-new fantasy series, and Cameron has another big-concept science fiction novel on the horizon. Different genres, different voices, same mission: story comes first. Always.
The most common problem I see in manuscripts right now isn’t bad prose or weak dialogue. It’s stories where the protagonist could simply walk away—and nothing meaningful would happen. If your character can shrug and go home, they probably should. So why don’t they?
