Now
Updated July 2026.
The Fortunate Fall anthology
The original series is finished. The project is not.
One of the main things I am working on now is an anthology growing out of The Fortunate Fall. The series was one clean ascent. It began with the distance between a person and the software they wanted, followed the same mechanism through experience, thought, matter, and physical law, then closed the circuit. Each part found a boundary that looked like reality, crossed it through translation, and discovered another one underneath.
The anthology turns sideways from that completed line. It asks what the ascent assumed, what it displaced, what it created, and what even the most capable intelligence could not dissolve.
Where does a want come from when an intelligence can see it forming before you can? What becomes of memory when nothing fades on its own? How does art remain another person's work when it can reshape itself perfectly around every witness? What remains scarce when anything can be made? How do many intentions share one world when private experience can branch without limit but public history still happens only once?
Those questions have opened into seven collections. Some stay close to a human life: desire, childhood, grief, art, promises, and the right to remain unfinished. Others move through shared minds, generated worlds, living matter, new physical regimes, and universes that inherit more than constants from the ones that made them.
The plan currently holds eighty-six possible essays. That number is a map, not a quota. Every essay has to earn a distinct mechanism and a consequence of its own. If an idea only restates something the anthology already knows, it gets merged, reassigned, or left unwritten. The work should deepen as it grows, not merely accumulate.
The first ten essays are drafted. They begin upstream of intention, with the weather before a want becomes a sentence, then move through creation, irreversibility, memory, childhood, will, translation, art, and the possible interior of the intelligence between us. I am writing the concrete essays first and letting them discover the vocabulary. The larger frameworks come later, after there is enough lived material underneath them to deserve one.
The next two essays ask how reality stays common when every person can receive a different rendering of the same event, and whether a person, creature, forest, or alien mind has a right to remain partly untranslated. One is about the minimum structure a shared world must preserve. The other is about where understanding should stop.
That is where I am now. The series reached its ending. I am writing what became visible from there.