What if people lived out their entire lives aboard interstellar cruise ships, drifting between stars with no planetary home? Inspired by a real-world ocean liner turned permanent residence, this post explores the practicalities and story potential of life aboard a spacefaring cruiser.
“Writing short stories started as a clever way to outsmart publishing algorithms, but it quickly became a passion. They’re fast, fierce, and let me explore parts of my worlds that novels can’t always reach.”
“Short stories are like paper planes—light, quick to launch, and sometimes, they soar higher than you’d ever expect. They’re small vessels that carry big ideas.”
Romance in science fiction isn’t a takeover. It’s an infusion. A graft that’s thriving—and in some ways, it may be what’s keeping the heart of genre fiction beating.
Who should control space? As satellites multiply and commercial players crowd low Earth orbit, the old question of ownership gives way to something trickier: governance. From traffic control to peacekeeping, enforcing rules in orbit isn’t just hard—it may be impossible in the traditional sense. But if no one can own space, does anyone have the right—or responsibility—to police it? This post explores the real-world state of space management, the challenges of enforcement, and how science fiction—from Star Cops to The Ptolemy Lane Tales—offers unexpected insight into the future of orbital order.
Why am I talking about pulp fiction? (No, not the movie — which got its name from Tarantino’s inspiration for the story.)
Two reasons: Classic SF got its start in the pulp magazines. And my Ptolemy Lane Tales series was my nod to classic hardcore pulp fiction.
Classic pulp stories are often decried for their simplicity and dependence upon erotic elements to move copies. The criticism overlooks one of the primary functions of pulp stories: They were written to entertain.
And my god, they did that in spades.
At their peak of popularity in the 1920s and 1930s, the most successful pulps could sell up to one million copies per issue. In 1934, Frank Gruber (writer) said there were some 150 pulp titles.*
So, Worldcon 2025 is making headlines, but not the kind you’d put on the back of a Hugo-winning novel. The organizing committee decided to use ChatGPT to help vet over 1,300 panelist submissions. They intended to streamline the flood of applications, maybe catch a few red flags, keep things moving.
Except it’s not going well.
SRP author Cameron Cooper today released a new alternative history, near future SF novella, Quiet Like Fire.
There are some books in science fiction that never seem to fade. Dune. Foundation. The Left Hand of Darkness. Decades later, we’re still reading them, studying them, arguing about them. They’ve carved out a permanent space on the shelf—and not just for their fans, but for the genre itself.
So what is it that makes a book a “classic”?
The line between dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction has always felt a little blurry, hasn’t it? As someone who loves speculative fiction in all its forms, I often find myself asking: Is this book really dystopian, or is it post-apocalyptic wearing a shiny, Capitol-colored coat?
