P.S. Davis's Blog

Teaching Physics in a Fantasy World
by P. S. Davis

I have been a physics teacher for more than twenty years, and I still love it. There is something wonderfully absurd about the questions students ask. One of my favourites was this: If Superman flies west at 300 metres per second and fires a bullet east at 300 metres per second, will the bullet move?

The short answer is no, at least not relative to the ground. The bullet’s motion cancels out Superman’s. From his point of view, it fires normally, but to someone standing still, it simply hovers. The beauty of physics lies in that balance between logic and imagination. It lets the impossible make sense once you look at it closely enough.

Another time, when I was teaching a younger class about astronomy, a student asked, Where does the old moon go when we get a new one? They thought a new moon meant a completely new celestial body. That question still makes me smile. Curiosity like that is what keeps me teaching. No question is ever foolish, because questions are where discovery begins.

Physics has always been one of those subjects people either adore or dread. It is demanding and filled with ideas that stretch the mind until it aches. The twin paradox and time dilation, for instance, still fascinate me. I never studied quantum mechanics in depth at university since I am an environmental physicist by trade, yet relativity opened my eyes to how strange and beautiful the universe truly is.

Of course, in my books, the people of Teloshka are far from reaching that level of understanding. They live in a world still figuring out how nature works, long before they have words like gravity or constant of proportionality. Yet necessity has always been the mother of invention, and Teloshka is full of necessity.

Physics is precise, but fiction gives it room to breathe. The question then becomes: how does it work when magic is involved? Perhaps magic is not real at all, or at least not in the way we think.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

To the untrained eye, even the simplest principle can appear supernatural.

A rainbow, for example, forms when sunlight refracts, reflects, and disperses through countless raindrops at specific angles, about forty-two degrees from the observer’s line of sight. A double rainbow appears when the light reflects twice inside each droplet, reversing the colours. Knowing this does not make the sight any less enchanting. The science explains the mechanism, not the magic.

Fantasy works the same way. The most convincing magic has its own logic. It obeys internal laws that may differ from our own but remain consistent. I do sometimes find myself shaking my head when a story breaks the basic laws of thermodynamics without reason. I adore fantasy, but energy cannot simply appear or disappear, not even for dragons.

That does not mean physics should control storytelling. It means the illusion feels stronger when it has a foundation readers can trust. Even if they cannot name the principle, they sense when something follows cause and effect.

Sometimes, of course, we bend the rules. I do it often enough. My upcoming novel An Envious God (out 30 November) introduces characters who blur the boundary between the natural and the impossible. Without spoiling anything, think about the electric eel. It generates up to 600 volts to stun prey or defend itself. To anyone without modern science, that would be sorcery. Yet it is completely real.

That is the intersection where I like to write. We live in a world built from physics, so our imagined worlds can draw from that same logic while keeping their sense of wonder.

Einstein’s thought experiments often play in my head when I write. In one of them, you sit in the middle of a train moving at great speed. Lightning strikes the front and back of the train at the same moment. To someone watching from the platform, the strikes are simultaneous. To you, they are not. You are moving toward one flash and away from the other, so you see them at different times.

Who is right? Both of you are. That is relativity in action.

Now, think about time instead of lightning. In special relativity, a moving clock ticks more slowly than a clock at rest. If your parents travel at near light speed while you remain on Earth, they will age less than you. You can even choose the speed and duration so that you end up the same age when they return.

For example, suppose your parents travel at about 0.866c. The Lorentz factor γ is 2 at that speed. If 64 years pass on Earth, only 32 years pass for your parents on the ship. Start with you at 18 and your parents at 50. When they return, you are 82 and they are 82 as well. That is the twin paradox in action, and it follows directly from measured time dilation.

Even film and television borrow these ideas. One of my favourite examples is the 1990s Sam Neill classic Event Horizon. In it, faster-than-light travel is explained using a simple piece of paper. Draw two dots on opposite corners, fold the paper until they touch, and you have a shortcut. The shortest distance between two points is not a straight line but zero. The ship moves by folding space itself.

A warp drive works on a similar principle. It does not push faster through space; it manipulates the fabric of space so the destination comes closer. It is speculative, certainly, but it does not ignore physics entirely. It takes an existing principle and stretches it just far enough to imagine.

That is the art of both science and storytelling. The best discoveries and the best tales stretch what we know without snapping it in half. They live in the tension between the possible and the almost possible.

Fantasy does not need to reject science. It thrives when it cooperates with it. When gravity pulls, when energy transfers, when light bends, and when cause and consequence remain, the magic feels more alive.

So, as both teacher and storyteller, I tell my students and my readers the same thing: curiosity drives everything. Whether you are wondering about Superman’s bullet, the moon’s renewal, or how to fold space itself, you are already participating in the oldest experiment there is: trying to understand the universe. And that pursuit, whether through science or imagination, is still the most magical thing of all.



Photo credit & link:





Photograph by P. S. Davis (Olympus E-30). This image is not AI-generated. Prints & merchandise available on
Redbubble.

Writers are often grouped into two broad camps. A pantser writes by the seat of their pants. They dive in with little more than an idea and let the story unfold on its own terms. A plotter builds the framework first. Characters, chapters, and arcs are mapped out before a single line of prose is written.

I fall somewhere in between. The Seeker’s Wrath and An Envious God were both written with outlines, and their core plots were clear from the start. The endings were known to me, the beginnings too. Yet the path from one to the other shifted along the way. Characters revealed more than expected. Some moments reshaped the journey. The bridge between start and finish was never a straight road, but the destination never changed.

Behind those stories are layers of work. I keep files and histories that most readers will never see. The Seeker’s Wrath began as the backstory of Marcius Saylong and his rise to power. It also brushes against Kaedryn Harth’s tale, though briefly, before his larger role in Teloshka’s new order. More may come. There are possible backstories for Kalltor Dalke too, chronicling his transformation from Armekalian Naval Captain to the feared Captain of the Mor ò Thail.

Every thread is planned, even when the writing feels spontaneous. The characters might discover their paths one step at a time, but their fates are already sealed. What happens to them is never an accident. It happens for a reason.

The same is true of the world itself. Teloshka is vast, and nothing is left to chance. Every city, every crest, every politician has a place. Even the symbols you may never read about have been drawn and stored away. This world breathes because it has been built as carefully as any bridge or tower in the real one. And you, the reader, can walk through it and watch it grow.

Learn more about the world of Teloshka here: P.S. Davis Books

Ok, so it wasn’t Tolkien. Obviously. He might have liked my work. He may even have been inspired. But it wasn’t him.

That said, other great authors have reached out to me. Writers like E.K. Johnston (author of Ahsoka), Julie Shackman (A Secret Scottish Escape), and even Katherine Addison (The Goblin Emperor) have genuinely made contact.

Not before I had to alert them, though. “They” had already messaged me from suspicious, unofficial accounts.

Each of these authors, along with many others, has been impersonated by scammers using fake profiles on Facebook and other platforms. Why? Because posing as a bestselling author gives credibility. It creates an opening.

The scheme is simple. Someone creates a fake account using a famous writer’s name and photo, then sends friendly messages to indie authors like me. These messages often sound supportive or inspiring. Some are clearly written by AI. Others just sound off. Either way, it quickly becomes apparent that it is not Katherine Addison you’re chatting with.

From what I’ve gathered, most of these scams originate from specific West African regions. I only learned this by engaging with them politely, just to see how far the scam would go. I sent them tracking links and gathered location data that way. That background might be interesting, but the location itself is not the point. The response is what matters: block the account, report it, and contact the real author so they can take action. Maybe not in that order.

The scammers follow a script. They begin by praising your work, then casually ask something like, “Who is your marketer?”
Or: “Do you have an editor?”
“Are you looking for a beta reader?”

If you give them even a hint that you might be interested, they will suggest someone they “know”. That person often has a Fiverr profile. At best, you’re paying someone with no publishing experience. At worst, the entire thing is a scam and your money vanishes.

Here is the comment I received from the fake Katherine Addison’s imposter, which might still be visible on my page:

"Hello P.S. Davis! I came across your book and it truly caught my attention! As a bestselling author, I always love discovering and supporting new voices in the writing world. Let’s stay connected. Feel free to send me a message or friend request if you’d like to connect!
I didn’t engage. I contacted the real Katherine Addison instead, who was glad I reached out."

The indie author market is already hard enough without this kind of distraction. So if you ever get a message like this, take a moment. Visit the author’s official website. Use their contact form to confirm whether they really messaged you. Most authors are grateful when you do. They may be able to report the impersonator or take legal action to shut them down.

Facebook knows this is happening. The company has done little to stop it.

Plagiarism might be flattery. Identity theft is not. It’s invasive, and it’s dangerous.

If you see someone who claims to be inspired by your work—even if it looks like a NYT Bestseller—check the profile. Click the website link. Make sure it’s real.