Mike with a J - Writing SF

The inside Story of a Failed Book Title (Part II)

2026-03-03T17:43:00.000+00:00

A few months ago I posted about the abject failure of The Oneiromancer of Mars. Misleading title, misleading image on the book cover, wrong genre message. But hey, if you're going get something wrong then you may as well go all out and get it 100% wrong. It's taken me a while but at last I've coaxed myself into rolling up my sleeves and fixing it.

Why's it taken so long? Well, first of all I liked the title. The core idea for the book started with the title. "I've had a great idea for Martian Dreams book 2," I said to my wife while we were out walking. "What do you think about The Oneiromancer of Mars?"

"What's an Oneiromancer?" she asked.

That should have been warning flag number one. But instead, I set about explaining all about oneiromancy, that well-known science fictional trope.

Another thing that has made this process of change so difficult to accept was that I loved the original book cover. Loved it. I'd explained the concept to my cover artist. I had spelled out my vision, and he delivered exactly what I wanted. Why on Earth would I ever want to change it?

But I had to. That lovely cover had to go, and more importantly, the book's title had to go, and here's the thing. Changing a book's title is not straightforward. There could have been tears. I had to unpublish the Oneiromancer – a brutal process that means losing all the reviews I'd gained, and to be fair they were good reviews. Average 4.8 stars. So the handful of people who dared to read the book actually liked it.

Starting from scratch has other risks, too. What if one of those handful of loyal, cross-genre fans thought I'd written a new book? They might go out and buy it again? Would they be annoyed to find they'd bought a book they'd already read? I would be. So there has to be a content warning right at the start of the book description. Not a great selling point.

But I've taken the plunge. Girl in a Spacesuit is a title that tells the reader exactly what they can expect - a story about a girl in space. It's also consistent with the title of the first book in the series, Old Man in a Spacesuit. And just in case that isn't enough, the new cover is a picture of, yes, a girl in a spacesuit.

I republished two weeks ago. It's still early days. I won't be buying a luxury yacht just yet, or even a toy yacht to sail on New Brighton boating lake, but still, so far so good.

Girl in a Spacesuit is out in the wild, on Amazon and most other platforms via Books to Read.

A Story For Christmas - Dead Santa

2025-12-18T14:10:00.000+00:00

Here's a fun Christmas story, just in case you've already exhausted all the offerings on Netflix or Prime or whatever.

No intro required other than that it's not fantasy, it's not sci-fi and it's probably not one for the kids.

DEAD SANTA
by Mjke Wood

While Shepherd watched his stocks go down, depleted, on the ground. The Angel of the Board came down and…

“Mr Shepherd? Sir?”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay Mr Shepherd?”

“Oh, it’s you, Angela. Yes, I was just… thinking.”

Angela Booth was HR director for Shepherd Brothers department store. Her office, right at the top of the building, in the apex of the roof, like the top of a Christmas tree, earned her the nickname Angel of the Board.

“You know what, Angela? No, I’m, not okay. You have shares in the company? Of course you do.”

Shepherd stabbed a finger at his pink Financial Times. “Have you seen this? Their value, today?”

“I know they’ve been slipping of late.”

“Slipping? They’re down the toilet. We’re finished, Angela. Department stores are finished. We’re a broken business model not fit for the twenty-first century. Nobody shops in department stores these days.”

“Well, right now that might not be the case, sir. There’s something you need to see. It’s why I came down,” said Angela. She held the door open and beckoned her boss to come out onto the mezzanine from where the entire store could be seen.

Shepherd joined her at the balcony rail, and surveyed his domain, five levels down to the sprawling, ground floor perfumery department.

“There’s a queue of people.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only ten-thirty. Why are they queueing? Something’s happened.”

There hadn’t been a queue in Shepherd Brothers in years.

“I think they’re queuing for the basement,” said Angela.

“Follow me,” said Shepherd, setting off at a trot.

The familiar smell of a thousand perfumes hit Shepherd’s nostrils as he came off the escalator. He followed the line of people down the stairs to the toy department. The grotto.

“What’s going on?” he demanded of Mavis, head of department for toys and leisure. This month she was playing the role of Tinkerbell. Mavis tipped the scales at plus thirty stone, and, kitted out with tiny wings, a wand and an off-white frilly tutu, she was a force of nature.

“All these people, Mavis. What the hell’s Santa done now?”

Shepherd Brothers had the best Christmas grotto in the city. When all other grottos had gone minimalist and cynical, Shepherd’s grotto was a haven of magic where traditional Christmas could still be found. Ian Shepherd stood by tradition, even while controlling the department’s cash flow sometimes felt like holding back Niagara Falls with a flour sieve. The grotto, Ian was sure, would have been a hit, except for Santa, aka Peter LeFey, drafted in each year from dispatch. Ian’s father, Donald Shepherd, the older of the founding Shepherd siblings, had always insisted on Peter LeFey for Santa, because he was rotund, red-faced, and wore a white beard that was entirely natural. Peter LeFey was also a drunk, a lecher with the young mothers, and hated children. Shepherd knew he should have sacked Peter years ago. But getting someone to dress up in a red suit all day for less than minimum wage was challenging. Peter LeFey was the only staff member willing to do it; it got him out of dispatch for a whole month each year; it placed him within reach of all the young mothers, “who couldn’t resist his charms”, as he liked to boast. Peter LeFey was, of course, delusional. He had no charms. But in the Shepherd Brothers basement they had learned to work around his shortcomings.

“Why are they lining up to see him?” said Shepherd. “Looks to me like he’s asleep.”

“Maybe that’s his secret,” said Angela. “He can’t get up to much debauchery, that way. The mums feel safe.”

“He’s not asleep,” said Mavis. “I, er… I think he might be dead.”

“What do you mean, dead?”

“I mean like, he hasn’t breathed in over an hour. Hasn’t copped a handful of any of the mothers. Hasn’t sworn. Hasn’t touched his hip flask. People are focussing instead on all the magic of a Shepherd Brothers Christmas. They’re loving it.”

“Don’t be stupid, Mavis. He’s not dead.”

“Feel him.”

Shepherd reached out a hand and touched Santa on the back of the neck.

“See,” said Mavis. “Cold as a fishmongers slab.”

Shepherd pulled his hand back as though burned.

“Why haven’t you done anything?”

“Me? Why me? And done what? Tell all these children that jolly old St. Nick’s kicked the bucket? That there’ll be no more Christmas presents, ever? Please leave, kids, while we haul Santa off to the morgue? Do you want to tell them?”

Shepherd thought about it. In his mind he was arranging mental images of how his toy department usually looked – devoid of customers and cheer. Complaints department, inundated. This, instead, was how a Shepherd Brothers grotto was meant to look. Lines of happy smiling faces; cash registers ringing like Christmas bells. He saw images of how his sales graphs usually appeared, like the ski jump at Innsbruck. He took out his smartphone and checked the live sales data, and felt his knees go weak. Come January, if this continued, his pink Financial Times stock market figures would be making front-page headlines.

“And nobody has noticed?”

Mavis shook her head. “They seem to enjoy my patter as Santa’s mouthpiece, though some of the kids have complained how he seems a bit cold to the touch.”

Shepherd thought. His mind whirled, doing sums. Profit calculations. Possibilities.

“Can we warm him up a bit?”

Mavis stared. Angela gasped.

“Well, it’s no less hypocritical than you hauling kids up onto his knee for the last hour, like everything’s fine and dandy.”

“I’ll tell you what. Angela?”

“Yes, Mr Shepherd?”

“Nip up to Home Appliances and borrow a fan heater would you?”

Angela gave him a look.

“Just do it, okay?”

Ten minutes later a warm breeze was emanating from beneath Santa’s red coat. Shepherd smiled. The plan was working, although Santa was doing kind of a Marilyn Monroe impression, with the hem of his coat flying, his beard sailing in the breeze. Worse. Peter LeFey’s solution to being dressed in fur fabric in the hot basement all day was to keep his trousers pushed down to his knees while going commando, so now he was flashing his crown jewels for all to see.

“Jesus Christ, cover him up before anyone notices,” said Shepherd. He should close this down, he knew. It wasn’t right. But those sales figures on his phone were flying.

He summoned Angela once again and sent her back to Home Appliances to swap the fan heater for a two-bar electric fire. A shrewd solution. Half an hour later, things were good. Better than good. The lines of customers were growing. A rosy glow had returned to Santa’s cheeks. The store photographer was snapping away, selling family group shots in record numbers, and not one person seemed to realise they’d be sharing on Facebook a Christmas photo of their little darlings perched on the knee of a corpse. The store music system played Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, and Shepherd, thinking of the imagery, tried to stifle a giggle. This was how Christmas should be. He could even smell the chestnuts and the smoke from the fire.

Fire?

Shepherd’s nose twitched.

“Fire!” He didn’t shout the word, he hissed it, for the ears of only Mavis and Angela.

“Bloody Santa’s on fire,” he said.

Mavis held out her arms to hold back the throngs of children. “I’ll close the grotto. We’ll get everyone out.”

“No, wait,” said Shepherd. “Just… I don’t know. Divert their attention. Tell them there’ll be a short break while… while Santa feeds his reindeer or something.” They’d used that one last year while they poured coffee down LeFey’s neck to sober him up.

Shepherd yanked the plug for the electric fire and grabbed the foam extinguisher.

In under a minute the burning Santa was under control, but foam was everywhere. A mess.

“Look children, it’s been snowing,” shouted Angela.

The children cheered.

“Brilliant, Angela,” said Shepherd. “Tell all the staff to keep this quiet. I won’t forget their loyalty when I hand out the Christmas bonuses.”

There would be Christmas bonuses this year. A tenner each, at least. Christmas was saved. Shepherd Brothers profits and reputation were saved.

On his way out of the basement, Shepherd overheard two rosy-cheeked, smiling children talking.

“Hey, Tommy. Have you come to see the dead Santa?”

“Yeah, saw him on TikTok. It’s viral. A million hits. They say he’s stiff as a plank.”

“And cold, like frozen turkey.”

“Not any more. They set fire to him,” said another.

“Woah, that’s way cool. I’m so getting on his knee for a selfie.”

That's it. Hope you enjoyed it.
Best wishes to you and yours. Have a great Christmas.

When Imagination Comes to Life

2025-11-10T15:56:00.000+00:00

Now and again, as a writer, strange coincidences and serendipitous moments can happen.

In The Oneiromancer of Mars, one of the early segments takes place in Delft, in The Netherlands. I've been to Delft a few times, I've fallen in love with the city, and have set a couple of short stories there, and I chose it again for some of the scenes in this novel. One of the chapters takes place in a restaurant, not a real restaurant but one that was entirely fictional. I chose a street at random - HH Geestkerkhof - and imagined a restaurant with lots of greenery because it fit with the theme of the book. Here's how I described it:

A feature inside the restaurant was the profusion of hanging plants, their long, green tendrils reaching down almost to floor level from pots suspended from hooks on the high ceiling. Any space between the dangling leaves was occupied by tall potted palms, making the air itself seem green, cool and moist, with scents that, for Minra, had associations with the forest from the home she'd just left behind.

There's more of this, but you get the idea. Again, this was not a restaurant I'd ever seen, in real life or even on the internet. Just fiction.

So anyway, last month, Sarah and I revisited Delft, spending a week in our caravan, cycling, wandering around the narrow streets, seeking out new places we hadn't seen before.

We had coffee in one of our favourite coffee shops, overlooking the canal bridge on Oude Langendijk (yeah, a real place that also gets a mention in the book) then took a random turn down Kromstraat, a street narrow enough to be deemed an alley. There's a jazz club down there, a pub, and then, surprise, my restaurant.

Well, not mine really, but one that looked exactly like the restaurant I had imagined. Maybe even greener than how I'd described.

Here's the photo I took through the open window.

It looked inviting but sadly we'd already eaten, and it was our last day in The Netherlands, but maybe next time we'll try the food there. Maybe the menu is the same. Maybe we'll get a table next to a mother and daughter called Minra and Lissa. As I say, strange things happen to writers.

The Inside Story of a Failed Book Title.

2025-07-03T16:41:00.000+01:00

Been thinking about book titles a lot lately, and realising I should take more care. Much more care. My latest book is, I think, one of my best, and yet sales are a disaster, reviews are non-existent. It is a train wreck and it will never earn back a tenth of what I spent on editing and cover design.

Why?

The answer, I'm certain, is all in the title, which seemed so good when I first came up with it. I was excited. This is a cool title I said to my wife. She'd read the book. She agreed.

The Oneiromancer of Mars.

It mentions Mars. It uses the cool word Oneiromancer. What could go wrong?

I realise now that anyone seeing the title would think: Oneiromancer. Mars. This is a fantasy book. Nice. The book cover too, exactly what I asked for, shouts fantasy! So, readers of fantasy novels might just be tempted to click on the link and read its description. And that's where the disappointment would kick in. It is not fantasy. The Oneiromancer of Mars is science fiction. There is zero fantasy element. Even the oneiromancer bit is explained in cold hard terms of super-deterministic physics.

So, they move on.

And my sales figures stay at zero.

And my hopes of ever using the profits to fund the pre-publication costs of my next novel fade with each passing day.

Science fiction fans might enjoy it, if they ever get further than the title. And the cover. Even those who enjoy both genres—I'm one—would not likely be tempted, at that moment, when in the mood for some sci-fi.

So what do I do? Do I change the title. The cover?

Well, that would be dangerous. The handful of readers who went against instinct and bought one, might then feel cheated if they found another book by the same author, bought it, and discovered it was the same as the last one. And it would be expensive: a whole new cover, change the links in all the other books.

No. I'll take it on the chin. It is one of life's lessons.

In case you are in the mood for some sci-fi, here's what it looks like:

The Oneiromancer of Mars. is NOT Fantasy. It's Sci-Fi. Really. Book 2 in the Martian Dreams series (Ha! even the series name sounds like fantasy. What was I thinking?)

Book 1 is Old Man in a Spacesuit. (Yeah, that's more like it. Sounds like sci-fi and sold a heap more copies.)

A story for Christmas

2021-12-08T16:44:00.000+00:00

Here's a story. It's not sci-fi and it's not fantasy, just a Christmas story. Hope you enjoy it.

Theodore Grimaldi Lights Up

by Mjke Wood

“Sophie, what’s Grimaldi up to?” said Gwen.

Sophie looked up from her computer and smiled. She beckoned her friend inside. Gwen slipped through the doorway of the legal secretary’s office and leaned against a cabinet. Gwen had noticed Grimaldi’s odd behaviour, days ago: smiling, being pleasant, and she had to know what it was all about.

Sophie held a finger to her lips and whispered. “Keep it down. He’s in his office.” She nodded towards the closed door. “I don’t know what’s happening, Gwen. He’s been like this all week.”

“Come on, Sophe, you must know something. Everyone’s talking about it downstairs. Rob says he even heard him humming Jingle Bells in the corridor. Like he was cheerful or something.”

“All I know is, he’s been coming and going for days. He hasn’t given me any work to do since Thursday. And he’s been moving boxes. He comes in with a box, then a few minutes later he takes one down to his car. And another thing,” she added, “he’s signed the Christmas Holiday rota.”

“What? He’s agreed it?”

“Hardly looked at it. Didn’t seem to care. Just signed it.”

“But he never agrees the holidays. He always has to knock someone back. It’s tradition. He hates Christmas.” Gwen’s voice had climbed an octave. Sophie flapped her hands and shushed her, nodding towards Grimaldi’s office door.

Which opened. There was Theodore Grimaldi himself, carrying a large cardboard box. He was the ultimate grey man. Grey suit, grey hair, grey pallor… The other partners called him the Old Grey Litigator.

“Ah, Miss Quinn. No work today? That filing cabinet struggling to stay upright without your assistance?”

This is more like it, thought Gwen. Here comes the bollocking. Normal service is resumed.

“Well, if you have a minute, Miss Quinn… er, Gwen, would you and Sophie mind terribly helping me down to the carpark with two more boxes? They’re on my desk. They’re not heavy. It would be kind of you. Thank you, ladies.”

Grimaldi turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Gwen and Sophie stared at each other. Had Grimaldi just been nice to them? Theodore Grimaldi was not a Christmas person. He usually celebrated the season of goodwill by sacking at least one of his legal team. Before last Christmas, Grimaldi, Buttersmith and Dean, solicitors at law, had been Grimaldi, Buttersmith, Price and Dean. But Price had been caught aiding one of his clients in a thoughtless act of compassion. Rumour had it he was now clerking at the branch offices out in Mold, above the fish and chip shop.

Gwen picked up one of the boxes. It was even lighter than Grimaldi had suggested. The lid was sealed with tape. She shook it. It felt like... She didn’t know what it felt like.

Sophie went out with her box leaving Gwen in Grimaldi’s office. Gwen looked around, just a glance. She felt guilty enough even being alone in here.

Standing on the floor, in the corner, another box. Same as the others, except…

The lid was unsealed.

Gwen looked over her shoulder towards the door. She listened. She calculated. Grimaldi had been gone... What? Thirty seconds? One minute to the car park, half a minute to unlock the car and put the box in the boot, another minute to return. Okay.

Gwen crept over to the box. She looked over her shoulder once more, her ears attuned for any sound. She reached out with her foot and, all careful and casual, she lifted one of the flaps – just an inch or two. She took a peek inside.

What she saw amazed her.

“So, why are we here, Gwen? What’s this thing you have to show us?” Sophie spoke from the back of the car. She was squashed-in between Connie and Tom. Rob sat in the front with Gwen.

“Wait,” said Gwen, rubbing condensation from the windscreen with her sleeve. Her de-misters hadn’t worked for weeks. “I promised you a spectacle. Be patient. I am about to deliver.”

“That’s Grimaldi’s house isn’t it?” Rob pointed to the grey building that brooded over on the other side of the busy traffic roundabout. They were parked in a tree-lined side road, concealed by shadows, but they had a good view of the main road. Darkness gathered. Rush hour was cranking up. A twinkling line of headlamps stretched back towards town. The air was foggy with exhaust from many cold engines on this muffled December evening.

“Just wait,” said Gwen. “Not long, now.”

Each of the five watched. They hardly dared breathe. The minutes on the dashboard clock moved like syrup.

“I’m starting to get cold, Gwen.” Connie blew on her hands and rubbed them together.

“Wait.”

And then it happened.

There was an audible woosh. There was light. Lots of light. Colour. Strobe effects. Elves. Reindeer. A giant, pulsating Christmas Tree.

The grey Grimaldi mansion had become Vegas, or Blackpool, and with a bigger carbon footprint than East Coast USA.

A shimmering red sleigh came swooping down over the road, suspended on wires. It bore an illuminated automaton Santa, ho-ho-ho-ing at a thousand decibels, a unearthly noise that drowned out the traffic, a noise that would leave everyone with rock-concert-ears for a week.

And then, there was Grimaldi himself, barely recognisable. Where was the fabled, Old Grey Litigator? This Grimaldi was wearing two things never before seen on his person: a Santa hat... and a smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he shouted, to the passing, bug-eyed motorists. Me-rry Christmas.”

Five legal execs sat in the car and goggled.

“He’s gone and done a Scrooge on us,” said Rob.

“He’s lost his marbles,” said Connie.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” said Sophie. “It’s a miracle, that’s what this is. A Christmas miracle.”

And then came the first accident. A three car shunt. Then another. And another. Carnage. Broken headlamps. Steaming radiators.

Grimaldi was there before the first wheel rims had even stopped rolling. His face was suffused with joy.

“Grimaldi, Buttersmith and Dean,” he shouted, handing out business cards.

“No win; no fee. Me-rry Christmas.”

Thank you to Wombo.art for the image.

Songs in a Lesser Known Key - on Pseudopod

2021-08-15T12:08:00.001+01:00

Imagine a musical key so dangerous it's been erased over time.

Imagine a song so dark it was banned by governments.

But someone's playing it again, in that forgotten key.

Dare you listen?

Songs in a Lesser Known Key, a story that's more true than you might imagine. Hear it told on Pseudopod - the sound of horror.

Attention! Not one of my usual light and fluffy stories. This one's way dark, and comes with an explicit warning.

Old Man in a Spacesuit – New Cover

2021-04-06T16:25:00.000+01:00

I really should make an effort to keep this blog up to date, because now I'm late announcing that Old Man in a Spacesuit has a spanking new cover. It's from Kritzelkunst (Doodle Art) in Germany.

I was never fully happy with the old cover. Probably because I designed it myself. I am not a cover designer, and yes, it showed. But this one?

I love it.

The expression on HBs face is worth a thousand words. He seems to be saying, "Okay, so I'm here on Mars. Don't expect fancy speeches or even a smile. I don't have to pretend that I like this, but I'm here, and that's how it is."

If the previous cover didn't grab you—and who would blame you for that?—then maybe this one will.

Try the book, on Amazon, here.

Old Man in a Spacesuit

2020-07-09T21:44:00.000+01:00

I launched a new book this week. Old Man in a Spacesuit is a near future sci-fi, that's light hearted, but also has a serious side.

Harry Burton – HB to his friends.

Ex-author: old, knackered, and psychologically fragile.

As a candidate for First Man on Mars, HB isn’t just the wrong stuff; he’s the wrong stuff that got lost in the post.

But they’ve sent for him anyway.

Others, too. Others nearly as unqualified and unwilling as him.

And while HB would rather sit in a coffee shop and pretend to write…

He’s curious.

You can find it on Amazon here.

This one started out in the Odeon cinema in Bromborough, a year or so ago. I was looking a film post that showed an old cowboy, I don't even remember what the film was, and I started imagining the character in a spacesuit. I filed it away. Then a few months later I found myself in Utrecht, in the Netherlands, and came back to that Old Man idea. I started creating a character who lived in Utrecht. I decided which street his house was in. I walked the route he would walk, or cycle, into town. I had coffee in the coffee shop that would be his regular haunt (after a bit of geographic relocation). Then I wondered about the circumstances that would get Harry Burton into space. I got on a train to Cologne and Frankfurt, a trip Harry would make.

And it all came together.

Ad Astra

2019-11-20T09:57:00.000+00:00

Went to see Ad Astra yesterday. Yeah, I know, I'm a little late to the party, but I'm an Odeon Silver Cinema addict, where those of us of a certain age, and can do daytime cinema, go to watch a film that came out a few months earlier for just three quid, and there's tea and biscuits thrown in for free. What's not to love about that?

Anyway, I digress. Ad Astra. Brad Pitt et al. It's had mixed reviews. I went along with a nagging feeling that I'd be in for a long afternoon, wondering when it might end. I got a surprise. I loved it! Sure, there are issues: like how come the 1/6 lunar gravity only applies outside? Ditto for Mars. And if they could build a radio transmitter that reaches up to LEO why not strap a lift (elevator) on the side and save on a few trillion tonnes of rocket fuel? And then there's... Okay, there were other things. But I'm staying off that road, because the film, overall, as an entertainment, was so good. The images and moodiness. The music. The sense that there are goodies and baddies in the near future, but who are they and what do they want? Which are we? The psych testing – something that will be coming to an app near you, soon, I'm sure of it – and the general sense of disorientation that pervaded the whole thing. This was a film in which to immerse, to lose a whole afternoon. Great stuff. Wish there were more like it.

Sansevieria slickerii

2019-02-10T16:21:00.001+00:00

I found this in Ikea of all places. It's a Sansevieria. Okay, it's not quite the same species as the Sansevieria slickerii that appears in The Spherical Trust – I'd have to travel two hundred light years to Pinky Space to find one of those. I'm not sure if they'd have a branch of Ikea out there, either.

Anyway, when you come across the plant that forms the main plot focus for your series finale, and it looks kind of alien, much how you imagined it, and even though you're only there for the veggie meatballs and maybe for a new drainer for the kitchen sink, well, you just have to buy it don't you?

It's sometimes called Snake Tongue, and... yeah I see it.

The Size of the Universe

2018-07-23T20:56:00.000+01:00

I'M IN OXFORD at one of my favourite museums, the Oxford Natural History Museum. Apart from the fact that it is a beautiful building, it's also full of the most fascinating collections. I could spend weeks here, looking at all the fossils and crystals and bones... Every time I visit I find something new.

I just noticed this (see photo below) which seems oddly out of place here, amongst all the ammonites and sabre-toothed tigers, but maybe this is the perfect place for it, after all. There's a model of the sun sitting on the balcony. Nothing special, just a football-sized golden globe. But then on the opposite balcony is a case with a model of the Earth and the Moon, which are to scale in terms of size and distance from each other, and also to scale in terms of their distance to the sun model on the other side of the museum.

In the photo, I've tried to show all three. The Earth and moon are at the bottom, tiny dots – the Earth is the size of a petit pois pea – held on bits of wire; it's the dark area of the photo, with the circle showing the Moon's orbit. Now look across the gallery, between the third and fourth columns counting from the left, and you'll see a golden ball, the sun. That is to scale. Impressive, huh?

Next month, 4th August, a spacecraft will be making that trip. The Parker Solar Probe will be launched on a Delta IV Heavy and by 1 November it will make its first close pass, about 30 solar radii from the sun's surface, then getting closer and closer with each orbit until it's about 6km from the surface, and within the sun's atmosphere, the corona. I was impressed by that even before I saw the scale model of the distances involved.

There's one other fact that really blew me away though. At these scales, if we wanted to include Alpha Centauri, our nearest stellar neighbour, where do you reckon we would have to position the model star? Across town in the Ashmolean? No. How about where I'm staying, in Abingdon, a half-hour bus ride away? No. Okay, then, what about putting it in London, in the Science Museum, about 50 miles away? No, not even close. At these scales, we'd need to position our Alpha-Centauri model about 1 million kilometres away. That's about three times the distance of the Earth to the moon. And Alpha Centauri is our nearest star.

Oh yes. Space is big!

This has nothing to do with Alpha Centauri. It's a T Rex, and too cool to leave out.

Electric Vehicles, Driverless vehicles – the future is backwards

2018-02-20T16:21:00.000+00:00

In a few years, we’re all going to be jumping into our electric cars and putting up our feet while we’re driven to work. We might even read a book on the way, or our car might do the reading for us while we gaze with bleary eyes at the passing scenery, not quite awake from our slumber. Sci-Fi would have us think this, but there’s a sci-fi future that looks a little different. Technology does not always move in the direction we expect.

Take your morning bowl of cereal, for example. Perhaps in the future our milk will come to us, fresh each morning, delivered by an autonomous, intelligent drone with a super-low-carbon footprint.

Well, a century or so ago that’s exactly what happened. The vehicle was a horse-drawn milk cart. It knew the route; the driver/milkman didn’t need to guide the vehicle, it knew the way. Then, when they reached a row of houses the four-legged AI processor was able to keep the cart moving, in pace with the human, who took the bottles to each doorstep. Very efficient. No noise apart from the restful clippity-clop of hooves, and low carbon emissions from the 100% bio-fuel power unit.

Then we had technological progress. Enter the electric milk float in the early 1900s. Yep, that’s right, 1900 and we had electric vehicles. In fact, by 1967 the UK had more electric vehicles on its roads than the rest of the world put together. They were nearly all milk floats. But now the milkman had to stay awake and drive his milk round because he’d lost the AI module at the front. But still, milk floats were quiet – with their open or sliding door – they non-polluting, and they were efficient.

Then we had more technological “progress”. The milk companies started to switch to diesel vans. So not only did the milkman have to stay awake, he ensured that everyone else on his round, his customers, were awake also. Jolted from their dreams by the steady knock-knock of the idling diesel, the revving engine, the opening and slamming of the van door outside every house. And if the window was open they could smell the fumes, blue and oily, and laced with particulates.

Progress didn’t end there. Now we drive to the supermarket in our own cars and load up with a week’s supply of milk. The milkman is virtually extinct. Electric vehicles – gone. Artificial intelligent guidance systems – gone. Until Google re-invent them.

I’m not knocking science fiction, I love science fiction. You want to try some of those futures? Here’s a chance to read 58 science fiction stories and novels, for free, courtesy of BookFunnel. Click on the link, here, for free e-books.

Interview with Author, Bonnie Milani

2018-01-23T15:59:00.000+00:00

I always enjoy seeing how other writers go about the process of creating their fictional worlds. Each has their own approach to plotting, planning, character and setting, and their own likes and dislikes. Here's an interview with Bonnie Milani, an award-winning US author with a background in journalism.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a Sci-Fi writer?

About the time I figured out how to put words together.

What authors and books inspire your writing?

Wow, that's a tough one. Dickens (baaaaadddd style to copy but addictive reading), Austen, the Bronte sisters, up through Heinlein, Asimov, Pohl, Anderson, Norton, and the writer who quite literally got me to actually start writing Sci-Fi, C.J. Cherryh.

Are you an extrovert or introvert? How well do you like book signings and other interaction with readers?

Total extrovert. LOVE meet'n greets! LOVE signings - it's just that I'm here in LaLa land, so there're neither many bookstores left nor people willing to show up for a signing unless that person's a 'face'.

What is unique about writing in your genre?

Sci-Fi, to me, is a technological society's answer to the ancient world's mythology. We can't believe in anthropomorphic gods anymore; even accepting miracles is a challenge these days. Yet to be human is to need to let your imagination roam, to create, to explore. Sci-Fi is the one medium that lets us do so by exploring the possibilities in the tech we're beginning to create.

Have you ever created a character with an actor or a person you know in mind?

Only before I actually started working with the Industry.

What inspires you to write?

Life. News magazines. History. Politics. Religion. Crazy relatives...

Are you Self-, Indie-, or Traditionally published? Why?

Both traditionally (small press) & indie. I'm glad I went small press to start; my publisher was able to get my debut Sci-Fi novel, 'Home World' onto the shelves at Barnes & Noble, as well as into Canada's Indigo chain. I wouldn't change the experience for anything. But working Indie requires me to learn to understand the business side of publishing, and I think that's a necessary piece of knowledge for all writers. Besides, I LIKE working on cover art!

Do all authors have to be grammar perfectionists; or do you use a Copy Editor?

With a Master's in Communication from Stanford, I don't typically find grammar to be my greatest challenge in writing. There's such a wealth of alternatives...

“Writing is a get-rich-quick scheme.” And, “All writers are independently wealthy.” How true?

Hah! To quote Stan Lee: "'nuff said!"

Plotter or Pantser (free flowing)? Do you write from an outline, or just start writing and go with the flow?

I tried just going with the flow when I first started writing waaaaayyyyy back in the day. Never got a story finished that way; always landed myself in a corner with no place for the plot to go. It was terribly difficult to teach myself to outline, but I've found the discipline of making myself work out the whole story to be invaluable. Even if the final product winds up bearing no resemblance to the outline at all!

What is the secret to becoming a best-selling author?

You tell me we'll both know. In truth, I believe it's a combination of producing professional caliber work with a systematic, consistent dedication to market identification and outreach.

Do you write book reviews? How important are reviews for your work?

Definitely! I generally won't review a book I couldn't finish, but I believe reviews are essential to indie authors' success. Me, I am ALWAYS hungry for more reviews! Not that I'd stoop to hinting or anything...

Do you have a favorite book or series you have written? Which one?

Each story I write is my favorite until the next one comes along. But I have to admit to a special fondness for 'Liquid Gambit'. It's the Casablanca tie-in, y'know?

What are you working on next?

I'm trying to clear my decks to dive back into 'Home World' and get the series going. I have a generation of stories in my head for that universe!

Thank you, Bonnie. Good luck getting back to the Home World series. To find out more about Bonnie Milani visit her website at www.Bonniemilani.com.

You'll also find her on Facebook and Twitter: @homeworldnovel

Antipodean Review

2018-01-12T20:34:00.001+00:00

If I were to go out into the garden and dig straight down until I came out on the other side of the world I’d find myself in New Zealand. Well, almost New Zealand. In fact, I’d come out in the South Pacific, about 250 miles east of Campbell Island, so my hole would fill up with water and I’d get quite wet. This, after being crushed by terrible pressures and evaporated in the 6000C heat of the Earth’s outer liquid core, and then ruining my shovel chipping through the solid nickel-iron inner core.

But I’m getting off the point. My intention is to point out that New Zealand is about as far from the Wirral, UK as it is possible to get. This week I had a review of my Power for Two Minutes and Other Unrealities book, from a reviewer in New Zealand. I’m blown away by this. I once flew to California, which, at five and a half thousand miles, is less than half the distance to New Zealand. California was far enough, and it helps me appreciate just how big the world is, and how far away New Zealand is, and to think that someone is out there, reading my book and taking the time to say nice things about it, is, to me, mind-blowing.

Here’s a link to the review – it gets a mention about halfway down – and to Alan Robson, a big thank you, and enjoy the rest of your summer. Here in the UK we’ll be keeping the central heating on for a while.

For anyone wishing to read Power for Two minutes and Other Unrealities, you can grab a copy for free by hopping over to mjkewood.com and signing up for my newsletter, or you can just buy a copy, which is cool, too.

Bullet Journal

2017-12-31T16:53:00.000+00:00

It could be said that I have a lot of notebooks. Do not ever let me near another stationery shop. Ever! Sew up my pockets. I wonder if there's such an organisation as NA (Notebooks Anonymous) that I might join.

Well, after getting up at four AM this morning, with a burning urge to start indexing all the material in my notebooks, I realised I needed help, (although I found some cracking story ideas that I'd forgotten about).

Anyway, I'm trying something new. Not just another notebook, this time I'm trying a different kind of notebook. I'm trying a Bullet Journal, and New Year's Eve seems as good a time as any to start.

So what is a Bullet Journal?

Well, I couldn't help it. I've spent money on the official, shop-bought, bullet journal layout, but really it can be done with any notebook because it's a method more than a physical item. Bullet journalling appears to be a cross between a diary and a notebook. A word of caution, though. I haven't started yet, so anything I say here can, and probably is, wrong. But maybe there is no such thing as wrong. Maybe there are just different ways. But, hey, there's a website with videos you can watch that explain the process far better than I can, here.

In short, it's all about rapid logging, which uses bullet symbols to categorise and organise all the different kinds of notes, such as tasks, migrated tasks, scheduled tasks, etc. There are three types of log: The Future log, the Monthly Log, and the Daily Log. Items from the short, bulleted monthly log are either actioned, scheduled or pushed forward. The whole thing is flexible and can contain notes sketches, appointments... anything. My daily log already has sections for story ideas, blog ideas, writing goals for 2018, and for recording my daily writing progress. There is no limit to how the system can be used. And central to it all is an index system – and this is a big deal for me – in which you can find the notebook entries that you know you made and can't remember where you put them. Only this week I spent hours searching for some notes I made about my ongoing travel book project. I can't remember which notebook they're in (and I have more than the small stack shown above, believe me) or they could be in one of my many Evernote notebooks – which should be easier to find if I could remember the right tag words.

Anyway, depending on where in the world you're reading this, 2018 is here or drawing close. I've written my resolutions in my Bullet Journal, and I'm even nuts enough to share them below.

All that remains is for me to wish you all a Happy and Prosperous New Year!

Mjke Wood is the author of the Sphere of Influence series. Deep Space Accountant and The Lollipop of Influence are available now. The Spherical Trust will be published in 2018. Visit www.mjkewood.com for details of how to get your copy of his short story collection, Power for Two Minutes and Other Unrealities, for free.

Vintage Radio

2017-10-21T19:54:00.000+01:00

This Thursday, I'm to be interviewed by Will Redfearn for Vintage Radio's community hour. I've done this slot a couple of times before and I'm very much looking forward to it. I'm hoping to talk about The Lollipop of Influence, and about the Sphere of Influence series in general, as well as a host of other random things that Will might throw at me.

It's a little like a Desert Island Discs session, too, because I get to choose the four or five pieces of music that punctuate the show. I need to get searching through my CDs, right now.

You can find Vintage radio on the internet, here.

Of course if it was me listening, I'd just ask Alexa to play Vintage Radio on Tune In. Oh yeah I haven't mentioned my thoughts on the Echo and other home assistants yet, have I? I might just bring it up on Thursday, and how they're leading us to imentor faster than we knew.

Jim Baen Memorial Award: The First Decade

2017-09-26T12:30:00.001+01:00

Writers of SciFi have another great bundle of FREE books and stories to offer. It's available now through to the end of September. Click here to access your free downloads.

Launching in November is The Jim Baen memorial Award: The First Decade. It's an anthology of 16 optimistic short stories that present a plethora of futures beyond Earth.

My own story, A Better Sense of Direction, was the first winner of the award back in 2007. It's a story I've included in my own collection, Power for Two Minutes and Other Unrealities.
I'm super excited to be included in this book. All the stories are from past winners, and I get to rub shoulders with some top award-winning authors. The anthology has been edited by Nebula-award-winning author, William Ledbetter, who has administered the Jim Baen Award right from the start.

Here's a pre-publication review by Publishers Weekly which should help the book to hit the ground running on launch day. I've had a sneak preview of the proofs, of course, but I decided to wait until I have the book itself in my hands before I read the other stories. I can't wait.

In two days I'm off to Peterborough, for Fantasycon, the annual bash of the British Fantasy Society. It's a great place to meet up with fellow writers, and has been a regular event on my calendar for several years now. I'm very much looking forward to it. But with all fun things there comes a penalty: I need to get ahead on my word count for The Spherical Trust (Book 3 in the Sphere of Influence series) so that I'm not having to play catch-up when I come back. Hey ho!

Launching Today! The Lollipop of Influence.

2017-07-08T09:00:00.000+01:00

Following Deep Space Accountant, here comes the second book in the Sphere of Influence series.

Bob Slicker and his navigation officer, Florence McConnachie, are blamed for the open-ended jump that dropped their battle fleet into deepest, uncharted space.

They attempt to make amends and are pushed together into an unlikely alliance.

Can they find a way home to the Sphere of Influence? Nobody ever managed it before, so they couldn’t make things worse.

Or could they?

From villain to hero, the adventure continues.

The Lollipop of Influence is available at the launch price of $0.99 (£0.99) from 8th July. Special price for one week only.

Book Trailer

Music and Science Fiction

2017-04-17T21:05:00.001+01:00

A few weeks ago, on a trip to Oxford, I visited the Bates Collection of musical instruments. Not just an ordinary museum, this was special. Because you get to play some of the instruments. Brilliant! This is how museums should be. What’s more, the curator doesn’t just sit behind a desk waiting to sell T-shirts, pencils and rubbers, he tells you about the exhibits – things you never realised you didn’t know. A fantastic visit and highly recommended if you're in or around Oxford.

So, anyway, I tried a couple of crumhorns, a serpentine and an ancient flute. They were all much harder to play than I expected because of the finger stretches. I hadn't realised how much modern instruments have been developed to help keep the fingers close together so you can cover the tone holes. These old instruments seemed to require some kind of genetic modification for the player to enable him to splay his fingers enough to make any kind of air tight seal. And some of them had more tone holes than fingers. How is that meant to work?

So enough of the ancient blowing instruments. One other instrument that caught my eye was a theremin.
Whoa! What's that? I can have a go at a theremin? I’ve always wanted to try a theremin.

If you’re wondering what a theremin is, go and watch an old fifties #sciencefiction film. Doesn’t matter which one, most had theremin’s in the soundtrack. It’s the instrument that makes the wobbly woo-woo sounds. It’s played by waving your hands in the air. The left hand controls volume, the right hand controls pitch. I should have recorded my laughable attempts at controlling the beast. Maybe it was just as well that I didn’t. It’s very hard.

So that takes me to the Easter weekend and #Eastercon2017.

Having “mastered” the art of theremin playing I was excited to find that the Eastercon programe had a musical treat in store: a concert by Thomas Bloch and Pauline Haas.
Thomas Bloch is a virtuoso on that other venerable #scifi instrument, the ondes Martenot, an early electronic instrument like a monophonic synth, that lets the performer move the keyboard around to bend the notes.

Thomas Bloch was accompanied by Pauline Haas on harp, and together they gave us a night of genre film and TV music to feature, not only the ondes Martenot, but two other instruments with similar haunting woo-woo sounds, the glass harmonica and the cristal Baschet.

Centre is the glass harmonica. The thing on the left looking
like something NASA would build is the cristal Baschet

The ondes Martenot is the keyboard left of the harp.

We even had a sneak preview of the music from the forthcoming film Blade Runner 2049, and yes we were warned, the film is pre-release so the music might change a little between now and when we get to see it on the screen.

It was a fascinating evening. I loved seeing how these sounds are produced, and was as much mesmerised by the musical mechanics as by the haunting music itself. My phone photos don’t do justice to the evening, which featured amazing light and smoke effects by the Eastercon tech guys (who did a fabulous job all weekend).

The concert was my finale to Eastercon for this year. I had to cut the weekend short and dash off straight after the concert, blasting north on the M6 until the early hours. I fell into bed and lay there happy and content, still hearing the woo-woo sounds as I tried to sleep.

I need to give you a flavour, so here's a bit of Thomas Bloch on the cristal Baschet, that I found on You Tube.

Music While You Work

2017-03-28T20:55:00.001+01:00

I heard a short item on BBC Radio 4 last night about listening to music while working or studying.

You can listen to it here, for a limited time. It was fascinating.

They talked about an app called Focus at Will, that uses different types of music and sounds to engage the part of the brain, the limbic system, that can otherwise become distracted by outside stimuli. It sounds great. I’m all for things that prevent me being distracted, and if I thought it could work I’d sign up. But music? No. I can’t write with music playing. Not at all.

I know some writers who do it all the time, who have different soundtracks for the particular scenes they’re working on – fight scene music, love scene music, setting description… Some have whole mixes that are intrinsic to the book they are writing, and that music will be forever associated with the specific book in the writers’ minds.

Maybe it’s because I’m not much of a multi-tasker, or is it just because I’m a musician, and become analytical when I’m listening to the music? All I know is that if I can hear any music at all, then I stop work. I can't help it. I lose focus.

I’m pretty much the same in cafes and coffee shops. If the music is loud I have no chance of doing anything that involves a separate stream of consciousness. I even find it hard to have a conversation. Only last weekend I was in a cafe where they were playing a Sinatra CD. Some of the tracks were standard Nelson Riddle arrangements that I’ve played with bands myself, and others were new to me, and very nice too. Either way I found conversation very difficult, and kept drifting off, my attention switching between music and conversation, but never both.

I do like to have some background sounds when I work, though. I often use an app called coffitivity, which plays the ambient noises of a coffee shop. I'm running it now. I love it. Give it a try. There are cups rattling, espresso machines hissing and the buzz of conversation. But no words can be heard, and there is no background music.

I’m also a big fan of noise-cancelling headphones. Or I was, until mine started buzzing and popping with a regular, almost musical beat. You know how it is when you make up tunes to go with the windscreen wipers, and they keep slowing down and speeding up? That is almost more of an attention killer than incoming emails or tweets. The headphones went back.

I’m curious what you think. Can you read a book while music is playing? Can you study? Or are you like me and need some background sounds in order to feel comfortable, but nothing that requires attention?

I wonder why we’re all different. I'm sure there's a lot more to it, and more to learn.

Work continues on The Lollipop of Influence, sequel to Deep Space Accountant. I’m now reaching the end of the first editing phase, and working in a strictly zero-music environment. Coffee shop sounds only.

Tick Tock

2017-03-20T19:09:00.001+00:00

This week saw the launch of a new anthology on Amazon, featuring the work of my local writing group, Wirral Writers. It's called Tick Tock, and it's edited by our chairperson, Lynne Quarrell.

There's a good mix of genres: general fiction, some scifi, some fantasy. There are poems, flash fiction and short stories. I have a story tucked away right at the back, out of harm's way, called Go Gentle, which I should warn comes with an advisory, NOT SUITABLE FOR THE OVER 60'S

Here's a list of my esteemed ToC Buddies:

Arthur Adlen Chris Black

Elizabeth Fisher Tom Herbert

Cheryl Lang Paul G Mann

Alexandra Peel Lynne Quarrell

Nick Rose Mjke Wood

Tick Tock is available on Amazon as an ebook and in paperback.

The Jim Baen Memorial Award: The First Decade

2017-03-05T13:10:00.001+00:00

Details now released for “The Jim Baen Memorial Award: The First Decade” anthology with cover artwork by the phenomenally talented Bob Eggleton. The book will be available from Baen in autumn of this year. Here's the Table of Contents. I'm mega excited to be included in this stellar line-up.

"A Better Sense of Direction" by Mjke Wood
"Letting Go" by David Walton
"Cathedral" by Mike Barretta
"Space Hero" by Patrick Lundrigan
"That Undiscovered Country" by Nancy Fulda
"Taking the High Road" by R.P.L. Johnson
"The Lamplighter Legacy" by Patrick O'Sullivan
"Low Arc" by Sean Monaghan
"We Fly" by K.B. Rylander
"Dear Ammi" by Aimee Ogden
"Citizen-Astronaut" by David D. Levine
"Gemini XVII" by Brad R. Torgersen
"Scramble" by Martin L. Shoemaker
"Balance" by Marina J. Lostetter
"To Lose the Stars" by Jennifer Brozek
"Cylinders" by Ronald D Ferguson

My story was the winning entry in the very first year of this award, nearly eleven years ago. It was a breakthrough moment for me, and something for which I'll be forever grateful.

I get quite a kick from watching the contest each year, which has been coordinated right from the start by Bill Ledbetter, who is also the editor for this anthology. I'll post details of the launch date as soon as I know it.

Interview with Books Go Social

2017-02-20T13:02:00.000+00:00

It's been a good month for interviews. This week I've been talking to Books Go Social, a platform that helps to promote new books, and telling them all about Deep Space Accountant. Here's a link to the interview.

http://booksgosocial.com/2017/02/20/deep-space-accountant-an-interview-with-author-mjke-wood-acra/

Liverpool: Look Closer

2017-02-14T11:14:00.000+00:00

I have a story up on the shiny new

Liverpool: Look Closer website.

This is a website hosted by Rachael Johnston that looks at the great city of Liverpool and its inhabitants through the art of writing. Follow this link for some free fiction and poetry, including my own story, The Last Glass.

Also look out for the follow-up print magazine, coming soon.

(Thanks to pixabay.com for the image)

Interview – Massive Black Hole

2017-02-12T22:35:00.000+00:00

I'm delighted to have been interviewed by author Andrea Barbosa for her Massive Black Hole blog.

Andrea's blog is packed full of interviews with writers and creatives from a whole range of backgrounds. I've enjoyed reading them and I'm sure you'll be as fascinated as I have been to discover both the differences and similarities in how other authors like to work, and what inspires them.

You can link to Massive Black Hole, here.