Canada Day always reminds me how many of my favourite science fiction writers turn out to be Canadian. From celebrated authors to passionate fandom and the Aurora Awards, Canada has quietly made an outsized contribution to speculative fiction—and it’s a legacy I’m proud to be part of.
Ridley Scott is one of those directors whose films automatically move to the top of my watch list. But after the disappointment of Gladiator II, I’m approaching his return to science fiction with a little more caution than usual. Based on the trailer for The Dog Stars, though, there are plenty of reasons for optimism—from its apparent focus on human relationships to Scott’s long history of creating unforgettable science fiction worlds.
Every reader matters, no matter where they buy our books. But direct sales give independent publishers something special: the ability to invest more in new stories, create exclusive editions, and build stronger relationships with readers. Here’s why buying direct makes such a difference.
For years, science fiction seemed determined to convince us the future would be smaller, darker, and more cynical than the present. But readers never actually abandoned space opera. They still wanted starships, exploration, galactic civilizations, and futures worth fighting for. Now, as film, television, and publishing slowly rediscover large-scale science fiction, it feels like space opera is finally stepping back into the spotlight — jet packs and all.
The new Dune 3 trailer should have filled me with anticipation. Instead, it left me uneasy. Not because Denis Villeneuve lacks skill as a filmmaker—far from it—but because the films seem determined to undercut Paul Atreides’ triumph before it ever truly lands. Which raises a larger question: Have modern storytellers become afraid of heroic endings? From Dune to grimdark fantasy to prestige science fiction, modern stories increasingly distrust hope, sincerity, and unapologetic victory. But is that really what audiences want—or simply what the industry keeps giving them?
Why has “agentic AI” suddenly become the term everyone’s using? What looks like an overnight trend is really the visible edge of a rapid shift—from passive tools to systems that can act, decide, and iterate. For science fiction readers, it’s a familiar moment: the future we’ve long imagined beginning to take shape, with all the promise—and unease—that implies.
Star Wars has been part of my life for as long as I can remember—and, in a very real way, it helped shape my career as a writer. But decades on, the question isn’t why it began. It’s why it never seems to end. As new generations discover it and older ones drift away, Star Wars continues to renew itself in ways that are both familiar and puzzling.
On Earth Day, science fiction reminds us that environmental collapse is not the only possible future. From Frank Herbert’s Dune to modern Solarpunk stories like Winds of Change, SF has always offered both a warning and a hope: that science, ingenuity, and the human spirit can help us protect our one blue world—and perhaps one day carry that wisdom to the stars.
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.
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.
