The Art of the Impossible: Why I’m Writing a Science Fiction Novel
Some stories cannot be told quickly. At least not those important enough to linger.
Hey there,
Three weeks ago, I hit send on one of the most personal announcements I’ve ever shared.
On July 1, I announced the debut of my first science fiction novel—On the Wings of a Pig. The response was overwhelming. I expected a few nods of support, maybe some curiosity. Instead, I got a flood of encouragement, thoughtful comments, story critiques, philosophical arguments, and even fan art (yes, someone painted a genetically modified pig with wings, and yes, I printed it).
But the most fulfilling part? Watching TCIP readers dive into the Saturday Morning Serial—where, every weekend, subscribers get early access to a new chapter. You’re not just reading the book—you’re helping shape it as it unfolds. The comments, the reflections, the DMs about what broke your heart or bent your mind—that’s the magic of writing in the open. And as promised, I’m listening.
If you want to read the story before you can buy the book, subscribe to the Saturday Morning Serial. One chapter, every Saturday, just for you. A thank you for supporting TCIP.
Which is why I can already tell you this: when the final book is released in September, it won’t be called On the Wings of a Pig. A new title is coming. So is the final cover art. Both will reflect the emotional spine of this story and the wisdom of the community shaping it. The title changed once I realized the story wasn’t about wings at all, but about the gravity beneath them
I’ll reveal the new title, artwork, and pre-order details in early August.
But today, I want to talk about something different. Not the plot, or even the science. I want to talk about why I’m writing a novel at all—and why I believe science fiction is the only medium powerful enough to carry the weight of what we’re facing.
The Space to Unfold
If you’ve been reading TCIP for any amount of time, you know this project exists at the crossroads of frontier technology and the human spirit. I’ve spent my career thinking about the implications of innovation—genetic engineering, AI, robotics, quantum information—on our collective health, wellbeing, and security.
And yet, for all the policy white papers, strategy sessions, industry playbooks, and late-night war game simulations I’ve lived through… none of them made me feel the stakes as deeply as fiction.
Because here’s the problem with how we talk about technology: we shrink it into soundbites. We reduce entire futures into slogans—“The sky is falling!” or “If we don’t move faster, we’ll lose the future!”
But the truth, as always, sits stubbornly in the middle of those poles. Between panic and blind acceleration lies a narrow, treacherous path that’s shaped by culture, values, and very human trade-offs. And you can’t walk that path in 280 characters.
So I turned to fiction.
The Schrödinger’s Ethics of Human Enhancement
The idea for this novel was born out of a frustration I couldn’t shake. Every time the topic of human genetic engineering came up—whether on a panel, a podcast, or over drinks—it felt like we were trapped in a moral stalemate. We’d talk in abstractions: “It’s a slippery slope,” “It could cure diseases,” “It opens the door to eugenics,” “It’s humanity’s next evolution.”
But nobody really took a stand. Not in the way that mattered.
We were stuck in what I’ve come to call Schrödinger’s Bioethics. As long as we talked in the abstract, every argument remained simultaneously good and bad, moral and immoral, progressive and regressive, depending entirely on who was shining the light. Open the box, and no one wanted to be the one holding the scalpel.
So I wrote a story that opens the box.
The Kobayashi Maru of Bioethics
For the non-Trekkies among us, the Kobayashi Maru is a fictional no-win scenario used to test leadership under pressure. In this story, I’ve constructed a version of that for bioethics. It’s not a thought experiment. It’s not a case study. It’s a world.
And in this world, the reader has to make a choice. You cannot stay in limbo. You will have to decide: Do you support this society’s path of genetic modification, knowing where it leads? Or would you prefer humanity to die out rather than lose its natural state?
What would you sacrifice for survival? Or would you prefer extinction to remain “natural"?”
That is not an exaggeration. That is the binary.
But to get a reader to stare down that dilemma, my co-author Sean and I had to earn their trust. We had to pull them through enough world, character, emotion, and contradiction that the decision mattered. That’s the work of a novel, not a tweet, not a policy memo, not even a long-form essay.
Because only a novel gives you the space to walk beside someone for long enough that their struggle becomes your own.
A Chorus of Characters, Not a Debate Club
Here’s the trick with writing fiction about technology: it can’t be a TED Talk with costumes.
Too many science fiction books fall into the trap of telling you what to think. But real persuasion—real transformation—happens when the reader forgets they’re being asked to take a side. When they care too much about a character to dismiss their worldview.
So we wrote a story with both sides. Multiple sides, actually.
Characters who are deeply human and deeply flawed. A woman who makes a choice no one else can understand—but who also might save us. A leader who demands naturalism at all costs, even if it means extinction. A scientist who believes she’s already lost her humanity and now seeks to restore it, not through policy, but through biology.
These are not mouthpieces. They’re people. And they’re dragging you into the future whether you like it or not.
In many ways, this is the only way to tell the story. Short stories, like the ones I often publish in TCIP, are bursts of exploration—what ifs, character sketches, philosophical grenades. But a novel is a commitment. It’s an ecosystem. It’s a test of stamina for both the writer and the reader.
And in this case, it’s the only vessel strong enough to hold the weight of what we’re trying to wrestle with.
Why Now?
If you ask most people when they think the future will arrive, they imagine some distant horizon. But the truth is, it’s already here. And at the frontier of technology, humanity is the experiment.
We are no longer theorizing about human genome editing. It’s happening. CRISPR babies are real. Stem cell-derived gametes are approaching viability. AI models can simulate protein folding and accelerate synthetic biology in ways we couldn’t dream of five years ago.
The question is no longer if we can do it. It’s who gets to decide what we do with it, and what kind of society we want to become as a result.
And most people are not equipped to answer that. Not because they lack intelligence or interest, but because no one has invited them into the conversation in a way that feels real.
That’s what this novel is trying to do. To create a space where you, the reader, can feel the implications, not just analyze them.
Because once you feel it, you can’t un-feel it. And that’s when you begin to care enough to act.
The Next Few Months: Story Behind the Story
So here’s what’s coming.
Over the next few months, TCIP will do something a little different. Alongside the Saturday Morning Serial chapters, I’m going to share the story behind the story.
How this novel came to be. The policy debates and industry roles I’ve held that planted the seeds. The moments in the Pentagon, or on Capitol Hill, or at a whiteboard inside a startup, when I realized we were losing the plot of the human story. The moments when the fiction started writing itself.
I’ll also take you inside the collaboration process—how I worked with my brilliant co-author Sean Platt, founder and mastermind behind my publisher, Sterling & Stone, how our editor Bonnie helped shape the emotional arcs, and how we wove scientific realism into speculative narrative without sacrificing either.
This won’t be a writing tutorial. It’ll be a narrative on why stories matter and what kind of stories the world needs right now.
Spoiler: the answer isn’t simple. But it’s worth exploring.
Join the Journey
So if you’re already reading the Saturday Morning Serial, thank you. You’re not just witnessing the story. You’re in it. Every piece of feedback shapes the version that will hit bookshelves. You’re part of something that’s never been done quite like this before.
If you haven’t jumped in yet, now’s the time. It’s free for TCIP subscribers. One chapter every Saturday. Just enough to sit with it during your coffee, let it rattle around in your mind, and maybe—just maybe—change how you see the future.
As always, I want to hear what you think. What characters moved you? What ideas challenged you? What future are you willing to fight for?
This novel isn’t just a book. It’s a mirror.
And you’re already holding it.
See you Saturday.
—Titus