Max Malterer's Blog

Hey everyone — hope you’re doing well!

I’m deep into all things Birthright launch prep and promotion currently — more on that in my next newsletter — so no major updates on book #3.

In this newsletter, I want to talk a bit about the research and worldbuilding process — because a few of you have asked how I actually do that as an author. And you’ll find a small Birthright Launch Drinks RSVP for newsletter readers at the end of this post, if you’re in town.

So. Worldbuilding and research.

Whenever people ask “How does an author do worldbuilding?” my honest answer is: there are many different approaches — and it also changes from book to book.

For me, Birthright was very different from The Human Relief Project.

When I wrote The HRP, most of the technological and societal background was stuff I’d already been living with for years. Questions around purpose and meaning at work, how AI evolves, the different paths it could take — those were topics I’d read about obsessively. I didn’t need to do much upfront research. It was more about zooming in on very specific questions at very specific moments when writing the book.

Birthright was the opposite.

I went into it knowing very little about reproductive technology. I’d read a few articles here and there, since I’m generally interested in science and progress — but no real depth. Same with population decline. I knew we were heading into a century of drastically declining birth rates globally with massive negative impact on societies, and that fact was one of the key triggers for the book. But beyond that, my understanding was pretty superficial.

Where I did feel more grounded was education, developmental psychology, and — at least theoretically — parenting. I’m not a parent, but I’ve read a lot on these topics over the past ten or fifteen years. I’d even call education reform my first great passion in university. That part of the world felt familiar. Reproductive tech didn’t.

So before I really started writing, I read widely in places like Nature, MIT Technology Review, The Economist, or Works in Progress. I didn’t read a single full book on reproductive tech or the drop in birth rates (which I did for my next book). Both topics are so forward-leaning, that I couldn’t find the right book on them yet. Rather, I followed article to article, question to question — the kind of things I knew would matter inside the story, such as the current state of artificial wombs and how they might evolve; how longevity trends might or might not counter the decline in births; or what the economic impact of smaller societies might be.

When I felt I had stuffed my brain with more than enough information, I started writing.

The first manuscript is always intuitive for me. Not rational. Not planned in a neat way. I follow the plot, follow the characters, and write in one long flow. Only after that do I go back and ask: Where does this story need more grounding? Where would a scene benefit from a bit more technological, societal, or economic context? Where does something currently not quite make sense unless it’s anchored in real-world logic?

Plausibility really matters to me. I don’t want to write futures that feel smart but hollow. Even if they have low probability, I want them to feel like futures we could actually stumble into.

But there’s a real challenge here — and this was the hardest part for me with Birthright: Once you’ve done all that research, and you get very excited about it, it’s very tempting to put it everywhere.

In the second manuscript, I definitely overdid it. I smuggled in ideas just because I found them interesting — not because the story needed them. They slowed the story down, and dialogue stopped sounding like how people actually talk.

So a lot of the later work was about cutting again.

Homo Naturalis became a very natural place to carry background information and weave in parts of the research. That worked. It felt organic.

But there were other moments where I could have gone much deeper — a museum scene with lengthy descriptions of the technological details of artificial wombs, Mr. Pearl talking in detail about how the birth rate collapse hit the economy, or a class with Mrs. Watts on why genetics worked the way I envisioned them. All of that was possible. And all of that would have been too much.

Genetics is a good example here. I put a lot of thought into how gene editing in embryos might evolve over the next decades. But very little of that made it into the book. I didn’t want Birthright to become a genetic engineering novel, and it wasn’t critical for the core story — even though it’s something I couldn’t realistically leave out in a book set in the 2090s. So the science is there, quietly, in the background — present in Grace’s world, but rarely explained.

That balance between knowing a lot and showing very little is one of the hardest things about writing near-future fiction. Luckily, Grace as a character helped and kept me in check. As a 17-year-old about to leave her secure childhood home for the first time, much of the world is new to her, which made me build the world through her lived experience, rather than lengthy explanations.

The other challenge with near-future fiction is that reality keeps evolving as you write your book. And so, no matter how much you research, you never know everything.

Even now, with the book about to come out, and conversations about it on the horizon, the questions never fully go away. Did I do enough research? Am I versed well enough in the topics I’m writing about? Is everything accurate and plausible enough?

I’m not an expert on everything in Birthright. I never wanted to be. And I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from readers and from talking to people who know these fields far better than I do.

But I do feel I built a solid foundation — solid enough to tell this story honestly and allow my readers to feel what this future could be like.

Soon, you’ll be able to judge for yourself. When you have Birthright in your hands — or in your ears — you’ll see how all of this turned out.

I’ll also send a longer Substack post launch that goes deeper into the actual research behind the book, with links to some truly great articles that shaped it.

Oh — before I forget — I’ve reserved five slots at my launch drinks on Feb 21st for readers of this newsletter. You can RSVP here — first come, first served 🙂

Until then, whatever you’re reading: keep reading.

Always keep reading,
Max

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Hey everyone,

I hope you had a wonderful festive season — if you celebrated Christmas — and if not, that you still enjoyed a few calmer days around the turn of the year.

I took an entire week off myself. No hard author deliverables, no deadlines. Just quietly reading the first manuscript of book #3 and leaving far too many remarks for the writer ;-)

But now that the new year is here, it’s time to shift the focus to Birthright—and I’ve got some proper news for you.

The launch date

First things first: we have a launch date 🥳

February 21st.

That’s the day Birthright goes live, and you can finally join Grace and see for yourself how you would handle the looming referendum of 2096.

The cover reveal

With a launch comes a cover reveal — and as promised in November, you get to see it before I’ll share it broadly 😎

I’m so stoked to finally put this cover out there! So stoked indeed, that it’s hard to put into words … I wished you could just see my massive smile running ear to ear as I’m writing this, and then you’d understand the feeling I’m experiencing instantly.

After countless iterations — more on that below — I’m just genuinely happy with this cover. I love how the title stands out, and how the divide asks quiet questions about the book without giving too much away. An invitation to explore more.

Even better, the cover looks great across all four formats:

the ebook

the print for paperback & hardcover

and the audiobook

Yes, four. This time, I’m launching Birthright in all formats from day one — not staggered like with The Human Relief Project — so you can jump in however you like to read or listen.

The long road to the final cover

Designing this cover was a much longer journey than I expected. Even longer than with the HRP.

And oddly enough, it started there.

When I created the new cover of the HRP released in November, I really liked the black-and-white photo, the bold yellow font, the clarity. I remember thinking: This could be the design direction for all my books.

So when I began working on Birthright, I combined that visual language with an image I’d had in my head for a long time — empty, futuristic cradles in a sterile room. Bright typography. Very striking.

I shared that first concept with a few people, got great reactions, and thought: Okay. This is it. I’m on the right path.

Then I teamed up with Andrew, my cover designer, who has worked on thousands of covers and understands the book market far better than me. I wrote an extensive design brief, provided audience and cover examples, and asked Andrew to take everything I’d done and turn it into a proper cover. Which he did.

But he also did something else.

He came back with a completely different concept — the kind of cover he’d design if a traditional publisher had commissioned him.

His reasoning was simple and, honestly, very good: once he looked at the kind of book Birthright is, and the kind of readers I want to reach, he felt that this quieter, more restrained approach might actually fit better. And it would work as a reproducible system for future books, too.

Suddenly, I had two strong options.

And I was … torn.

There were aspects I really liked about Andrew’s version. The title really stood out, and one could tell immediately that there were two factions in the book — and a conflict already discernible.

But part of me still wanted continuity with the HRP. A consistent, bold system I could repeat across all my novels, Instagram, and Substack.

So, after days of turning over the options in my head, I decided to do something slightly unusual.

I told Andrew to keep developing his cover, while I continued developing mine.

He fine-tuned his version. We iterated, adjusted, and eventually locked it in.

At the same time, I went through dozens of iterations on my own cover — playing with fonts, colors, imagery, reacting to feedback.

At first, people found my cover powerful, but also very dark. Almost like a crime thriller. Too dystopian. So I lightened it. Made it calmer. More open. More hopeful.

Eventually, I reached a point where I felt confident with my version. Andrew’s version was also finished.

Again, days of running in circles followed — reviewing my original design brief, feedback notes, and all my design iterations.

In the end, I decided to go with my design, mostly because it fit better into the system I had in mind.

But something about it still felt … off. Something I couldn’t quite name. Then, over a nice dinner, I showed both covers to a friend I trust. And her comments about each of them made me question my own design.

At first, I brushed it off. I had made my decision. I wouldn’t waive now. Yet, the thought kept nagging at me, and within twenty-four hours I found myself back in my design tool.

This time, I was tweaking Andrew’s version. As I made subtle changes to Andrew’s design, I developed a new bond with it.

And that’s when it clicked: I had never given his design a real chance. Subconsciously, I’d thought of it just as a backup, as a version to A/B-test maybe, but not one I’d commit myself to.

I realized that I might have been a bit in love with my first idea, even though Andrew’s cover felt much closer to the readers I wanted to attract.

Readers of Klara and the Sun, Never Let Me Go, Station Eleven. People who want serious, near-future speculative fiction that’s both entertaining and thoughtful.

I decided to change course and go with Andrew’s cover. The only problem: I had already signed it off and I still wanted to change a few things.

More cost. More back and forth.

I briefly thought I’d just do it myself, and asked Andrew for the raw files… which turned into a week-long email ping-pong. It was stressful … I didn’t want to be a bad client, but I also didn’t want to settle for a cover that didn’t feel perfect yet.

I could smell the tension between us in every email, but I keep leaning into the creative conflict with Andrew, and in the end, it was productive.

To be fair, he taught me a lot in that process — about when to trust a designer, and when not to turn him into a pixel-pusher.

We adjusted colors. Tweaked typography. Played with a few subtle elements.

Andrew — very British, very polite — gave careful, understated feedback. And in the end, we went with a mix of his and my suggestions.

And now, on the other side of all that, we have a cover I’m genuinely proud of. A cover, that speaks for Birthright, harmonizes with the HRP’s one, and defines a design system I hope to carry into future books as well.

In a strange way, the lengthy, winding cover process almost mirrored the book itself — how much do you optimize, and when do you trust something human and imperfect?

Now I’m turning it over to you: what do you read into the cover?

What comes next

You’ll be seeing this cover — and visuals inspired by it — a lot over the next weeks as we move toward launch.

And there’s more coming here on my newsletter too:

a deep dive into the world of Birthright and the research behind it

some thoughts on the ethical and technical questions the book raises

and a behind-the-scenes look at editing and the launch process itself

And of course, when February 21st comes around, I hope I can count on your support in helping Birthright find its first readers.

That’s it from me for now.

I wish you a wonderful start to the new year, exciting projects and ideas for 2026 — and as always:

Keep reading.

Always keep reading.

Max

PS: Bonus screenshot of my main design canvas in Kittl. A peek into my journey.

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Hey everyone,

This is my last update of the year — a little pre-Christmas one.

I won’t make it long. Many of us are busy getting ready for the holidays and the New Year celebrations. Just two simple things:

First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for reading my writing, for following my rollercoaster ride as an author, and for your support throughout the year. It makes a huge difference to know that there’s a group of people out there, somewhere, cheering you on from afar.

Second, a few updates ago I promised you a short piece from my Steering the Craft course. Here it comes — a brief, unpolished read to wrap up a busy year. I’ll paste it below this newsletter so it doesn’t break the flow up here. As always: I’m curious to hear what you think 😊

If you celebrate Christmas, I wish you wonderful holidays! And for everyone else, I hope you get to enjoy some quiet days before the new year too, with plenty of time to read a good book or novel. My holiday selection: Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness, Rodney Stark’s Discovering God, and Anne Applebaum’s Twilight of Democracy are waiting for me — all excellent inspiration for my craft and books #3 and #4.

I’ll see you in the new year with a Birthright launch date and cover release.

Until then, keep reading.

Always keep reading.
Max

Exercise from Steering the Craft

Write a scene where rhythm and movement of sentences mirror action, emotion, physical reality.

The train is pulling out of the station, any noise of its wheels accelerating on the steel beams below me gently cancelled out by my AirPods. The sun just started climbing behind the office buildings that rise in our district’s commercial center, bathing everything in rose and amber colors. It is a sight I can never get enough of, so peaceful and calming, a reliable reminder that no matter what awaits me on any given day, the world will keep spinning, and life will wander on along its mysterious paths.

Rush hour is still far away, and so it’s only three other people with me in the quiet train compartment. At the other end is a homeless man who has turned eight seats into a temporary bedroom. A slim mattress rolled out on the floor. His belongings, his world, packed on the seats towering around him. Sleeping, finally.

As much as I wished he had a proper home — for his own benefit, and given the sour smell covering his half of the compartment also for mine — I hope he gets at least an hour of deep sleep before someone kicks him out.

The other two passengers have sought shelter from the smell and sit at my end of the compartment, a series of open windows bathing us in the chilly yet fresh early-morning air. A woman in her fifties, her hijab perfectly arranged. A young man no older than twenty, his dark arms covered in tattoos. Both are wearing their airport staff uniforms. Their red eyes with dark rings beneath them, and their heads struggling to not drop onto their chests, tell the story of a long night shift. A warm sense of gratitude rises in me for all the people in the shadows who quietly keep this country humming.

I look back out the window, open my to-go-cup, close my eyes, and slowly inhale the invigorating smell: scents of fresh earth, dark chocolate, and roasted hazelnuts rise from my French press-brewed coffee. If the sunrise is nature’s daily sign of reliability, then making my coffee every morning is my personal act of defiance against all the chaos roaming the world.

As I take my first sip, my thoughts start drifting toward the workday ahead. I haven’t looked at my to-do list yet, but in last night’s dreams I have already been busy tackling it. My heart begins racing. The peace and calm of just moments ago vanish instantly.

It has happened again.

My mind has left the comfort of my weekend cave. It has entered the vast lands of the workweek. Lands of anticipation, chaos, and anxiety. Lands where rivers full of never-ending problems criss-cross the terrain in whichever way pleases them, and where one never knows when a stream will pull you under.

I feel hot. And cold. Both at the same time.

I relive last night’s dreams. What a productive worker I was in my sleep. My hands ball into fists. The hairs on my arms stand up.

It’s still another thirty minutes until I arrive at the office, but my body is already in fight mode.

I take another sip, the soothing coffee hitting my mouth. That’s all it takes to finally snap me out of my anxiety, to remind myself how ridiculous my reaction is, and to breathe deeply. As my nerves calm and breathing slows, I leave the part of me that wants to run back to bed behind, open my phone, and pretend to be the grown-up professional who is calmly preparing for his day.

Soon I’ll forget all about my anxiety, my mind at first busy with tasks, then too exhausted to contemplate anything.

But tomorrow morning, back on the 7am train, it will be waiting for me.

My reliable frenemy.

Bonus gift: for the ones of you who liked The HRP, I think you’ll enjoy this debate on whether robots should take our jobs.

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One of the beautiful side effects of launching The Human Relief Project last year was that it connected me with people I never would have met otherwise. Artists and writers, teachers and coaches, technologists and thought leaders—one of them being Olivia Gambelin.

Olivia is a world-renowned expert in AI Ethics and product innovation, and was one of the first movers in Responsible AI. She’s the author of Responsible AI: Implement an Ethical Approach in Your Organization, founder of Ethical Intelligence—the world’s largest network of Responsible AI practitioners—, co-founder of Women Shaping the Future of Responsible AI, and involved in countless other initiatives in the field of value-driven tech.

In short: the perfect person to talk about The HRP.

After a long conversation on the book at the end of 2024, we decided to follow up with a recorded interview. Multiples attempts were derailed by summer flus, network failures, and—despite AI support— calendars that absolutely refused to cooperate 😅

But a few weeks ago, we finally made it happen.

We spoke about purpose in the workplace, tinkering with AI, and what would actually change if AI took over my day and night job. We explored what I want AI to take over at work, how the values of the people deciding what should be handed to AI will shape the future of automation, and why “good tech” ultimately comes down to agency.

And Olivia is such a natural host who makes you feel at ease from the moment the conversation begins—the perfect setup to have a candid conversation full of energy, laughter, and a few sideways surprises. I almost smiled as much watching it as I did while recording it 😀

You can:

Watch our interview here …

Read Olivia’s reflections on our chat in her newsletter In Pursuit of Good Tech …

Check out some of the other interviews has done with AI practitioners on the future of AI.

I hope you’ll enjoy the conversation as much as I did.

And after watching, keep reading. Always keep reading,

Max

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Hey everyone,

I’ve been looking forward to this one for a long time. There’s some exciting news about Birthright, and a handful of Christmas book recommendations.

Let’s start with the big one.

Birthright is officially entering the final stretch. I’m aiming for a launch in the second half of Q1 — exact date to be announced in the new year. But the cover is done, the layout is done, and the audiobook is going through its final feedback and revision round.

And honestly … the last few weeks were brutal in the best of ways 😉

Dozens of micro- and macro-iterations on the cover, the layout, the fonts, the smallest spacing issues. Some of them together with my designer, some of them me sitting up way too late tweaking things on my own. On top of that, figuring out how to collaborate best with my wonderful editor-and-designer couple — including some very patient and polite back-and-forth on expectations for the aspiring author — and also where I was making it harder for myself than necessary. Lots of lessons I’ll definitely take into book #3 (which is coming along nicely; more on that in 2026).

So: we’re very, very close to starting to release the first snippets of cover, characters, story, etc. First to you, then to the rest of the world. Very, seriously, very exciting! 😁

Which brings me to something I loved doing with The Human Relief Project:

Become an ARC Reader

If you’re curious to read Birthright early — really early — and help me polish the last 0.01%: Fill out this tiny survey here.

As an ARC reader — ARC stands for Advance Reader Copy in publishing speak — you’ll get:

a pre-launch digital copy in mid-December

the first look at the world, the characters, the new cover

a chance to flag any last grammar gremlins or anything that might have slipped through

a spot in the acknowledgements 😉

and when launch day comes in Q1, my only ask is:

leave an honest review on Goodreads ahead of launch

and the moment the book hits Amazon, leave a review there too

And, of course, until the official launch window, you’ll have to keep everything quiet.

If you’re in, I’d love to have you, and hear all your thoughts about Grace, her story, and her world.

Don’t remember what Birthright is about? Fresh off my digital printing press, here’s … *drum rolls* … the print version’s back-cover blurb:

In a country optimized to perfection, one imperfect choice could change everything.

Europe, 2096. Half a century after the Big Drop, the collapse of global birthrates, almost every child is now a Regular: genetically tuned, born in artificial wombs, and raised in state-run Centers designed for perfection. Those born the old way, the Natural-Borns, live in their own districts, remnants of a past fading from view.

Seventeen-year-old Grace is in her final year at a Center, her days kept on track by AI-guided human caretakers. She has never questioned her place, always grateful for her perfect upbringing—until she is gifted a banned book that awakens her longing to see beyond the Center’s walls.

On a school trip to Natural-Born District 1, she meets Tom, whose unscripted life is full of things she’s only read about: families built on warmth and choice, landscapes allowed to grow freely, futures that aren’t prewritten. Drawn to him and his different world, Grace starts bending rules—sneaking out, clashing with friends, deceiving caretakers—and she sees what Regulars aren’t meant to see.

As a charismatic minister drives a referendum to outlaw natural birth “for the children’s sake”, violence flares, and Grace and Tom’s bond collides with old wounds, a fragile new secret, and the cost of exposure. With days dwindling and the system tightening its grip, Grace must make a decision: accept the flawless future she was raised for—or fight for a life no one else believes in.

While Birthright is still a few months away, Christmas is just around the corner. I don’t just write books, I also read a lot of them, and I would love for some of them to end up underneath your Christmas tree… or the tree of someone dear to you. So here are a few suggestions.

Actually, any book by Ray Nayler works — his debut The Mountain in the Sea, or his new one Where the Axe is Buried. He is one of my favorite contemporary speculative fiction authors.

I read Tusks of Extinction this fall on a hiking trip and devoured it.

What it’s about: A tight, near-future story where conservation, identity, and AI collide when a human mind is revived inside a resurrected mammoth.
Why I loved it: It’s the kind of philosophical, nature-meets-technology fiction that hits you quietly and then stays with you for days.

This is one of those books that rewires something in your brain. From one of SF’s greatest authors.

What it’s about: A physicist living between two radically different societies — one anarchist, one capitalist — who is on a mission to tear down walls.
Why I loved it: It shows you what a theoretical concept like true anarchy would actually feel like if you lived inside it.

I’m normally not a post-apocalypse reader, but this one kept appearing everywhere, so I had to give it a try, and it did not disappoint.

What it’s about: A Shakespeare troupe, dedicated to keeping art and humanity alive, travels through what remains of civilization after a pandemic-triggered global collapse.
Why I loved it: It’s quiet, beautiful, and makes you re-appreciate things like electricity, warm buildings, and shared stories.

(Sneaky, I know 😀) If you’re into near-future “what if” scenarios, AI, purpose, and the emotional fallout of a world without work, well… this is your friendly nudge.

What it’s about: As AI is used to free society from work, two lives on opposite ends of the Human Relief Project collide in the promise of a workless world, forcing them to confront what’s left when progress outpaces meaning.
Why you should read it: It’s a very intimate, very personal book; a good fit for anyone thinking about work, meaning, and how we build our future.

As always, thanks so much for being here, and for being part of this journey.

I hope some of you jump in as ARC readers.
And I hope December treats you gently.

Until then, keep reading. Always keep reading.

Max

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Hi everyone!

It’s time for my promised HRP anniversary surprise.

Exactly one year ago, I launched my first novel, The Human Relief Project, into the world. Back then, it felt like the pinnacle of a long journey, not just as a writer, but as someone finally learning to listen to his inner passions and callings.

But little did I know on October 19th last year that it was really just the beginning — for both The Human Relief Project and for me as a novelist.

Since the launch, the book has found its way into over 250 hands (and screens). Not a breakout hit — the one every author secretly dreams of 😉 — but a wonderful beginning that has led to many deep conversations about AI, work, and purpose. Every week, I get messages or see headlines about how AI is reshaping the world, automating jobs, even making people joke that The Human Relief Project is becoming reality — which I love. It’s surreal to see my book pop up in those conversations and spark those kinds of thoughts.

Over the past year, I’ve shared many lessons learned, but the biggest one has been clarity. I now understand much better who I want to be as a novelist — a journey that will continue for as long as I write — who my books are for, and how I can bring that essence alive across everything I create: from my Substack to my website, and, most importantly, my book design.

You might’ve already noticed the rebrand of this Substack into The What-If Lab, and a few subtle changes on my website. But today, for you my loyal Substack readers, I have a special treat.

You’re the first to see the new cover for The Human Relief Project.

It’ll roll out publicly over the next few weeks, but I couldn’t resist sharing it with you first.

So here we go.

Now, a bit about the thinking behind it. The Human Relief Project isn’t hardcore science fiction — and it’s not purely literary either. It’s a crossover: for readers who love to explore the big what-ifs, morally complex futures, and systemic impact of technology through intimate stories and deeply human eyes. Think Klara and the Sun, Station Eleven, or The Mountain in the Sea.

With my original cover, I tried to signal that it was “not typical sci-fi,” something more subtle and grounded. But the feedback was clear — readers struggled to connect the cover to my desired crossover genre, some even confusing it for a children’s book. So I knew I had to rethink it.

I ran a design contest late last year, but nothing quite fit. So I parked the project. Then, this summer, as I refined my author essence, new ideas started flowing. Dozens of iterations later, the result is this new design — black and white image for realism and plausibility, a slightly futuristic building to hint at the near future, and a bright accent color that keeps it alive, human, and optimistic.

The look captures what I write for: realistic “what-if” futures with emotional depth. Stories that marry heart and mind. Fiction that invites us to step into an almost-tomorrow and confront timeless questions about meaning, identity, and human agency.

It also looks stunning on the new hardcover version that’s coming out alongside the rebrand. And it’s a look I might carry forward into future books, Substack visuals, and whatever else comes next.

I’m beyond excited to finally share it — and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Oh, and before I let you go: Birthright and Book #3 are both moving forward beautifully. I’ll share a full update in my next newsletter.

Until then, keep reading. Always keep reading.

Thanks for being here.
Max

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Hey everyone!

Writing to you from our beautiful balcony in Berlin Adlershof, surrounded by flowers and trees humming in the late-summer sun. Gotta enjoy the warm days before fall rolls in… and with it, a bunch of book news (and a micro story at the end!).

October 19th marks the one-year anniversary of The Human Relief Project, and one year of me being a published writer. Woohoo! To celebrate:

I’m refreshing the cover, folding in what I’ve learned this past year and setting the stage for my future author style.

I’m releasing a hardcover edition.

I’m doing a small website overhaul alongside it.

And I’ll use this moment to make some noise about The Human Relief Project and reach new readers.

Of course, subscribers here will be the first to see the new cover. 🙂

My three-month literary-agent window closed with rejections and silence. That’s okay — I was prepared for it (maybe even a little glad, since it means I won’t have to wait years for Birthright to come out 😉).

Hybrid publishing was another option, but after speaking to a few firms and reviewing offers, I’ve decided to self-publish rather than go hybrid. Why:

I can put more of the budget into the work itself (line editing, cover and layout design, launch promotion) instead of a package fee.

I want more hands-on involvement to keep tight control over quality and build long-term partnerships: bookstore outreach, promotional work, and creator collaborations.

I’ll still work with a small team of pros: a copy editor, a cover designer, and a layout designer.

Launch is locked for Q1 2026 🚀 I’ll share the exact date once a couple of pieces click into place. This one should be a (hopefully!) big step up from the HRP launch: higher production quality, hardcover from day one, audiobook from day one, and a real push to get it into bookstores.

Time to let you in on a little secret: the new book’s working title is SAINT 😌. I’ve just finished the plot revision, and work on the manuscript will kick off next week. It’s the most challenging project I’ve attempted so far. Very near-future, research-heavy, subtle yet complex worldbuilding, messy human stakes, and characters and a story I can’t stop thinking about — I’m sooo excited for it.

If momentum holds (while juggling the HRP anniversary, Birthright prep, and, yes, the day job), I’m hoping for a first full draft toward year’s end 🤞

In August, I ran myself through writing exercises from Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering the Craft. She’s one of my favorite sci-fi authors, and I highly recommend her books — start with The Dispossessed if you haven’t read one of hers. You’ll think about anarchy in ways you never have before.

Her writing exercises were just as eye-opening as her books and helped me level up my craft as a fiction writer. Over the next few newsletters I’ll share some raw practice pieces. Today it’s Exercise One, which leans into sound: rhythm, noise, breath on the page. I wrote two short pieces; here’s Part I.

Arthur brushed a pine branch away from his face, the dark-green needles gently scratching the back of his hand like the nails of an affectionate lover, and almost stumbled over Jess who was kneeling on the forest floor, staring into the clearing ahead. He was about to reprimand her for choosing such an unfortunate spot to stop, but before the lecture he’d given to countless students on research trips could leave his mouth, the tension in her body caught his attention.

Something wasn’t right.

Jess slowly turned her head and smiled at her father over her left shoulder, a childish grin running ear to ear. The silence around them was so absolute he could have heard a pine needle drop. Yet it wasn’t a needle that broke the hush but a muffled nnnghh that sounded both foreign and familiar. Jess’s wide eyes locked on him for a heartbeat, then flicked right, and his gaze followed her lead to the center of the clearing.

Arthur held his breath.

He knew there were wild ones roaming these parts of Canada now, but he’d never seen one in the wilderness — let alone a cow and her calf. The scene was so picturesque one could think the mother and her young were posing. Her head was held high, towering five meters above the ground where a steady breeze ruffled her hair; the late-morning sun bathed her entire body, every shade of brown in her deep fur vibrating in the bright light, sharply contrasted with the ebony of her massive tusks. The calf’s head barely reached the mother’s belly, and it was fully covered by her shade, as if the sun were something to be protected from. While the little one’s trunk kept moving, busily grabbing clumps of tall grass and shoveling them into its wide-open mouth, the mother stood frozen, alert to dangers lurking in the forest’s depth.

This most majestic of mammals had returned to the world with none of its former foes left. The great beast’s early memories — yes, they remember — knew no discomfort, no pain, no fear. In her rebirth grounds there had been nothing to be afraid of: food and water had been plentiful, the calves safe, the herd growing, and despite the usual skirmishes between the young bulls, it had been a time of bliss and peace. Yet one day a swarm of gray mosquitoes the size of birds, their wings flashing in the sun and their skin tougher than the hardest rock, had appeared in the herd’s paradise. After circling over them for mere seconds, they had descended and stung one tribe member after the other.

If she knew today’s world, if she spoke our language, she would tell us of the terror, of the sound of bone drills all around her that still haunted her at night. The mother, the herd’s matriarch, had been the last to be stung, and she had to watch in horror as her tribe, one after another, sank to the ground and slipped into a deep sleep. When she herself, after first swooshing one of the mosquitoes away with her tail, its impact against her skin surprisingly painful, had finally found herself melting to the ground with her lids closing, she saw a group of strange two-legged monkeys on the horizon, walking toward the herd across the far plain.

Her instincts told her these monkeys were behind the mosquitoes, and when she awoke again in the Canadian wilderness, it was this instinctual certainty that told her to steer clear of any two-legged monkeys, should they ever cross her path again.

Even without packs of Smilodons roaming, Earth was not a safe place for mammoths.

This piece was inspired by the visionary work of Colossal Biosciences.

Thanks for reading and for being here. I’m curious: what are you most excited about right now? The new HRP cover and hardcover? Birthright launching in Q1 2026? Or SAINT taking shape? And how did the little writing experiment land for you?

Hit reply and tell me.

Until next time, keep reading (or listening),
Max

If you haven’t subscribed yet, please do. Not only will you get every update from me straight to your inbox, but it will also help this newsletter to be discovered by more readers on Substack’s platform.

Subscribe now

If you are already subscribed, share this mail with just one person who you think would genuinely enjoy it. Who would be better than you, who knows me and my writing so well, to judge who might be interested in it 🙂

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Hey everyone!

Writing to you from our beautiful balcony in Berlin Adlershof, surrounded by flowers and trees humming in the late-summer sun. Gotta enjoy the warm days before fall rolls in… and with it, a bunch of book news (and a micro story at the end!).

October 19th marks the one-year anniversary of The Human Relief Project, and one year of me being a published writer. Woohoo! To celebrate:

I’m refreshing the cover, folding in what I’ve learned this past year and setting the stage for my future author style.

I’m releasing a hardcover edition.

I’m doing a small website overhaul alongside it.

And I’ll use this moment to make some noise about The Human Relief Project and reach new readers.

Of course, subscribers here will be the first to see the new cover. 🙂

My three-month literary-agent window closed with rejections and silence. That’s okay — I was prepared for it (maybe even a little glad, since it means I won’t have to wait years for Birthright to come out 😉).

Hybrid publishing was another option, but after speaking to a few firms and reviewing offers, I’ve decided to self-publish rather than go hybrid. Why:

I can put more of the budget into the work itself (line editing, cover and layout design, launch promotion) instead of a package fee.

I want more hands-on involvement to keep tight control over quality and build long-term partnerships: bookstore outreach, promotional work, and creator collaborations.

I’ll still work with a small team of pros: a copy editor, a cover designer, and a layout designer.

Launch is locked for Q1 2026 🚀 I’ll share the exact date once a couple of pieces click into place. This one should be a (hopefully!) big step up from the HRP launch: higher production quality, hardcover from day one, audiobook from day one, and a real push to get it into bookstores.

Time to let you in on a little secret: the new book’s working title is SAINT 😌. I’ve just finished the plot revision, and work on the manuscript will kick off next week. It’s the most challenging project I’ve attempted so far. Very near-future, research-heavy, subtle yet complex worldbuilding, messy human stakes, and characters and a story I can’t stop thinking about — I’m sooo excited for it.

If momentum holds (while juggling the HRP anniversary, Birthright prep, and, yes, the day job), I’m hoping for a first full draft toward year’s end 🤞

In August, I ran myself through writing exercises from Ursula K. Le Guin’s Steering the Craft. She’s one of my favorite sci-fi authors, and I highly recommend her books — start with The Dispossessed if you haven’t read one of hers. You’ll think about anarchy in ways you never have before.

Her writing exercises were just as eye-opening as her books and helped me level up my craft as a fiction writer. Over the next few newsletters I’ll share some raw practice pieces. Today it’s Exercise One, which leans into sound: rhythm, noise, breath on the page. I wrote two short pieces; here’s Part I.

Arthur brushed a pine branch away from his face, the dark-green needles gently scratching the back of his hand like the nails of an affectionate lover, and almost stumbled over Jess who was kneeling on the forest floor, staring into the clearing ahead. He was about to reprimand her for choosing such an unfortunate spot to stop, but before the lecture he’d given to countless students on research trips could leave his mouth, the tension in her body caught his attention.

Something wasn’t right.

Jess slowly turned her head and smiled at her father over her left shoulder, a childish grin running ear to ear. The silence around them was so absolute he could have heard a pine needle drop. Yet it wasn’t a needle that broke the hush but a muffled nnnghh that sounded both foreign and familiar. Jess’s wide eyes locked on him for a heartbeat, then flicked right, and his gaze followed her lead to the center of the clearing.

Arthur held his breath.

He knew there were wild ones roaming these parts of Canada now, but he’d never seen one in the wilderness — let alone a cow and her calf. The scene was so picturesque one could think the mother and her young were posing. Her head was held high, towering five meters above the ground where a steady breeze ruffled her hair; the late-morning sun bathed her entire body, every shade of brown in her deep fur vibrating in the bright light, sharply contrasted with the ebony of her massive tusks. The calf’s head barely reached the mother’s belly, and it was fully covered by her shade, as if the sun were something to be protected from. While the little one’s trunk kept moving, busily grabbing clumps of tall grass and shoveling them into its wide-open mouth, the mother stood frozen, alert to dangers lurking in the forest’s depth.

This most majestic of mammals had returned to the world with none of its former foes left. The great beast’s early memories — yes, they remember — knew no discomfort, no pain, no fear. In her rebirth grounds there had been nothing to be afraid of: food and water had been plentiful, the calves safe, the herd growing, and despite the usual skirmishes between the young bulls, it had been a time of bliss and peace. Yet one day a swarm of gray mosquitoes the size of birds, their wings flashing in the sun and their skin tougher than the hardest rock, had appeared in the herd’s paradise. After circling over them for mere seconds, they had descended and stung one tribe member after the other.

If she knew today’s world, if she spoke our language, she would tell us of the terror, of the sound of bone drills all around her that still haunted her at night. The mother, the herd’s matriarch, had been the last to be stung, and she had to watch in horror as her tribe, one after another, sank to the ground and slipped into a deep sleep. When she herself, after first swooshing one of the mosquitoes away with her tail, its impact against her skin surprisingly painful, had finally found herself melting to the ground with her lids closing, she saw a group of strange two-legged monkeys on the horizon, walking toward the herd across the far plain.

Her instincts told her these monkeys were behind the mosquitoes, and when she awoke again in the Canadian wilderness, it was this instinctual certainty that told her to steer clear of any two-legged monkeys, should they ever cross her path again.

Even without packs of Smilodons roaming, Earth was not a safe place for mammoths.

This piece was inspired by the visionary work of Colossal Biosciences.

Thanks for reading and for being here. I’m curious: what are you most excited about right now? The new HRP cover and hardcover? Birthright launching in Q1 2026? Or SAINT taking shape? And how did the little writing experiment land for you?

Hit reply and tell me.

Until next time, keep reading (or listening),
Max

If you haven’t subscribed yet, please do. Not only will you get every update from me straight to your inbox, but it will also help this newsletter to be discovered by more readers on Substack’s platform.

Subscribe now

If you are already subscribed, share this mail with just one person who you think would genuinely enjoy it. Who would be better than you, who knows me and my writing so well, to judge who might be interested in it 🙂

Share

Hey everyone!

This one’s going to be a packed update. I haven’t written in a while, and a lot has been happening. So get tucked in, grab a cup of coffee, maybe put on some calming music and let’s catch up.

Let’s start with The Human Relief Project. I haven’t really done much promotion lately, but still, every month one or two people find the book and buy it. That’s been a nice little rhythm, reminding me that the story keeps finding its way. Someone recently mentioned the book in a LinkedIn conversation, and a dear former colleague gave me detailed feedback on the audiobook version. That’s going to be incredibly helpful when I start working on the audio edition of Birthright. All small things, but they give me energy.

There’s also an exciting podcast interview coming up in two weeks with Olivia Gambelin, a Responsible AI voice I admire. She’s warm, curious, and we’ve had great chats so far. I’m looking forward to diving deep with her into the HRP, our workless future, and what it actually means to write about AI and with AI.

Now to Birthright. I realized I haven’t shared this yet: I started querying agents in early June 🎉 So far, I’ve sent the book to 25 agents, gotten a few rejections, and the rest are still out there, waiting. We’ll see. If no one bites, I’m ready to self-publish again. But this time I’m exploring hybrid publishing models that offer more professional support with book creation, printing, distribution, and a bit of a push into bookstores. First conversations have been super insightful — I’m learning a lot and I’m loving it 🙂

And maybe you’ve seen it already on Instagram… I’ve finished the first draft of the plot for novel number three (!!). It’s incredible how thrilling it is to plot a book. The draft is about 40 pages long right now. Some prose already in there, some scenes loosely sketched, characters coming to life, story arcs forming. It’s still rough, of course, and I’ll definitely go through a second draft of the plot before diving into the actual writing. But I can’t wait to see the story and characters coming to life on the page. This one’s already giving me a lot of energy.

Between these three projects, I’ve also been writing a few shorter pieces here and there. Birthright won’t launch before spring 2026, so I’ll be sharing two or three flash or short fiction pieces with you in the coming months to bridge the gap a little. Stay tuned.

At the beginning of the year, I promised to give you more behind-the-scenes insights into the writing business. So here are two that have been on my mind lately.

Genre is…complicated. On the one hand, agents, publishers, readers (including people like us!) all want to categorize a book. It helps with marketing, discoverability, Amazon listings — you name it. But most books don’t fit neatly into just one genre. Mine certainly don’t.

Sure, there are sci-fi elements. But it’s not really sci-fi. It has some literary elements, but true lovers of literary fiction wouldn’t accept that either. Maybe speculative fiction fits? But that’s too broad. So we get more granular: near-future sci-fi. Or near-future speculative fiction. Or near-future dystopia. And suddenly you’re slicing things so thin that it feels like you're both zooming in and cutting off important dimensions of your work.

It’s something I’ve been struggling with since the HRP. Traditional publishing and platforms still rely heavily on a small set of genres. Selecting the three categories on Amazon was like putting my book into chains. Picking sci-fi as genre for a big newsletter promotion felt so wrong that I didn’t even promote it. But here’s where GenAI has been surprisingly helpful with Birthright. When working on positioning, book summary, or single line pitches, ChatGPT — my Swiss-army knife for all book-related work (since I try to avoid juggling multiple subscriptions and I like the friction of having to think deeply through what I want) — helps to translate my novel’s themes and ideas into genre language that agents and platforms recognize. It adds elements such as “…with coming of age elements”, “…with literary cross-over appeal” or “…blending dystopian worldbuilding with Grace’s sensory, introspective voice”. It’s making the “illegible” parts of my book more legible.

Still, genre remains a moving target, and I’m curious what the final “label” for Birthright will be.

A query is basically the pitch package you send to agents (and sometimes publishers) to get them interested in representing your book.

It usually includes:

A query letter – one page, either emailed or submitted through a form. It contains a short pitch of the book, a two-paragraph book summary, a little about you as the author, and ideally, a nod to how the book fits into the market (including comparison titles). You want to show the agent that you have a good grasp of your book’s commercial market.

A writing sample – this varies. Some agents want the first 10 pages, others ask for 30 pages or the first three chapters. If they like what they see, they’ll request the full manuscript.

A synopsis – 1–2 pages outlining the entire plot, including all twists and turns (yes, even the big surprises — no wonder agents don’t get hooked after reading a synopsis 😀).

When I queried HRP, I focused mostly on the story. No positioning, no relevant comp titles (1984 is not a relevant comp title for agents…). With Birthright, I’ve leaned much more into the commercial angle: who the book is for, what niche it fits into, which recently successful titles it sits alongside. Because as much as agents adore books, and usually do their work for the love of literature not the love of money, this is a very tough business. So, they need to see potential, both creatively and commercially. Emphasizing this more has probably been the biggest shift in my query process this time around.

Before I wrap up this long update, I want to share a tiny piece of fiction with you. A few weeks ago, I had a tough personal moment and perfectionism kicked in hard. Out of that, I wrote a small father-son dialogue that felt cathartic to get down on paper.

It’s just my raw scribbles, no editing, no polishing. It’s how my very first sketches usually look like before they turn into fully fledged scenes, dialogues, and characters with carefully crafted prose.

“Who is that man?” Jimmy asked. Ryan followed his son’s gaze across the vast meadow spreading out in front of Mount Fortune to the edge of the forest. There, on a huge tree stump turned gray by years of rain, snow, and sun battering it, sat an old man, his long white beard gently swinging in the light breeze, and ice-blue eyes intensely scanning the mountain. An intensity that signaled nothing but the mountain could capture his attention.

“Oh, that’s old Mike.”

“What does he do?”

“He was the first who came here decades ago to climb the mountain.”

“Wow. He put the cross at the top?”

“No, he has never put a foot on the mountain.”

Little Jimmy’s eyes went as wide as the wings of his dad’s plane.

“Why?”

“He hasn’t found the perfect path to the top yet.”

“Oh.”

Ryan observed as Jimmy processed what he had just said. His words seemed incomprehensible to the eight-year-old. Jimmy looked up at the mountain, then at old Mike, then settled back on his dad kneeling next to him.

“Why doesn’t he just walk the path everyone else takes?”

“Who knows if that’s the most perfect route.”

Little Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “Grandma would say: it does the job.” And with that, the topic was resolved. He turned away from old Mike and started the climb up the mountain, his dad following Jimmy’s lead.

As always, thanks so much for reading and being part of this community! I’d love to hear your thoughts — what resonated, what you’d like to read more about, what questions you have. And if you enjoyed any part of this post, it would mean a lot if you shared it with a friend or subscribed.

Until next time, keep reading (or listening)!

Max

If you haven’t subscribed yet, please do. Not only will you get every update from me straight to your inbox, but it will also help this Substack to be discovered by more readers on Substack’s platform.

Subscribe now

If you are already subscribed, share this post with just one person who you think would genuinely enjoy it. Who would be better than you, who knows me and my writing so well, to judge who might be interested in it 🙂

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Does the novel have a future?

It's a question that’s been occupying me lately, especially as a young author (young in the writing journey, not in life) who just published his first novel with very modest success. Is it worth honing my craft as a novelist, or should I consider a different medium for my fiction? After all, people’s attention spans are shrinking, and there is no other medium that demands more time and attention from beginning to end than the novel. Movies take two to three hours, an episode of a series half to an hour, a Youtube video or reel mere minutes.

And yet, Substacks get increasingly longer, providing lengthy essays for which not even a twenty-minute commute to work offers enough time. Podcasts often run multiple hours, with audiences happily keeping up with several episodes a week. People aren’t just skimming; they’re diving deep, when it matters.

Worldwide, we are consuming more media than ever, and still can’t keep up with all the great pieces being produced and shipped every day. With AI, the volume of content will not just increase, but literally explode in the coming decade, begging the fair question if the novel will survive. One might say that with the cost for video production in free fall, people will drop other mediums and consume video only. But then, why are audiobooks, podcasts, and Substacks on the rise, despite how easy it is to scroll through TikTok or YouTube? Not just that, the overall book market is still growing, and forecasted to continue doing so.

So what does the novel have going for it? Its depth. To start with, it leaves it up to the reader to create a world of their own. It provides a prop for imagination, but doesn’t tell the reader exactly what it looks like. In that same vein, it also allows the reader to create a personal bond with the book, where each bond is different from someone else. While viewers of a movie might also have different interpretations, they rarely differ as widely as readers’ views on a book. The novel is a medium that pushes one to go deep into character creation and world building to a level of detail that cannot be matched by visual formats. Audiobooks and podcasts can get close to this level, but they do not demand the same focus and attention from the reader, which often leads to a more shallow experience.

With AI, we might soon co-create books as we read them, just like in computer games, where the world is built and shaped by our actions. It will be interesting to see how books and games will converge in a new form where I’m both reader and player, and the AI is the writer. It will give us more control over the experience. But at the same time, the more control I have over the book’s story, the fewer surprises it holds, the less novel perspectives it will provide to me. Sometimes I want to create. Other times, I want to be taken somewhere, want to be taught, told, and entertained, without needing to act or decide anything myself. Shown a world I’d never imagine myself.

Now, a novel could be written live, with the reader involved in the creation process. But what about the magic of starting a finished piece of writing that has been reviewed many times to make the story, world, and characters as engaging as possible? Shouldn’t there always be space for books like that?

Who knows, maybe, AI will even lead to a new golden age for the novel. After all, genAI requires a strong foundation to create new content. A stellar novel could be the perfect starting point for fans to create their own fan stories with AI, engage with side characters, and explore the world in ways that no author could do within a single lifetime.

I can’t predict the future, but in the end, I believe we will still have the novel around centuries from now. AI will make it easier for anyone to write, and the novel is still one of the best forms for sharp voices to ask daring ‘what if’ questions. It’s a cultural good—a social catalyst—that has the ability to transform us like no other. As everything around us is facing rapid transformation, we need fiction to guide, inspire, and encourage us on that shift towards a better future.

I’d love to hear your thoughts: What place do you think the novel holds in our future?

Leave a comment

As always, thank you for taking the time to read my updates and being part of this community!

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