Max Malterer's Blog, page 2

The Final Stretch: The Human Relief Project is Almost Here! 🚀

Hey everyone,

It’s been a wild few weeks. Every day after work, I’ve been diving straight into finalizing the book until bedtime—weekends included. Honestly, I underestimated just how intense these "final meters" would be. It turns out they're more like kilometers! 😅

The good news is that I’m almost there, and I have lots of exciting updates to share about my author journey, what’s coming next, and of course, your invitation to celebrate with me at the Launch Drinks in Berlin on October 19th.

If you’re more in the mood for some fiction than hearing me ramble about this process, I’ve got you covered too! You can check out flash fiction pieces or an excerpt from The Human Relief Project.

For everyone sticking around, let’s dive into all things book launch.

The Last 1.5 Months: What’s Been Happening

Manuscript Madness: After what I thought were the "final" edits, I realized there were about 2,000 more to go. From major revisions to tiny tweaks, it felt never-ending. Then came formatting the ebook and paperback, and more edits emerged with each pass. A lot of it came down to small details—like making sure every single dash across 400 pages was formatted correctly. You’d think AI could handle that kind of thing, but no luck there if you want 100% accuracy. 

The Launch Team: One of the best parts of this journey has been pulling together a Launch Team of amazing friends and supporters. We had a kickoff meeting a few weeks ago, and since then, Daniel, Thu, Pelle, Rosalee, Bhavna, Masha, Johannes, and Adry have been helping me brainstorm, spread the word, and keep me sane through this rollercoaster of self-publishing. Whether it’s coming up with new ideas, preparing extra book materials, or just being there as a sounding board during the ups and downs, their support has been incredible. I couldn’t do this without them!

Cover & Blurb Reveal: If you follow me on Instagram, you may have already seen the big reveal of my book cover. Designing it was a journey of its own, but I’m so happy with how it turned out. Shortly after that, I also shared the book’s blurb—a crucial piece that took a surprising amount of time to get just right. These little milestones have made the whole thing feel much more real. Here are the posts if you missed them: Cover Reveal and Blurb Reveal.

Formatting Fun: Another time-consuming but essential task was formatting both the ebook and paperback versions. It’s amazing how much work goes into making sure every line break, font choice, and chapter heading looks perfect on both digital and physical copies. I’m aiming for the best possible reading experience, and that’s required a lot of back-and-forth between tweaking the layout and fixing small errors. The process taught me that moving from a 95% finished book to a polished 100% takes a lot more time than I expected.

Proof Copy Ordered: Just a couple of days ago, I ordered my paperback proof copy from Amazon, and I can’t wait to hold it in my hands next week! It’s going to be such a surreal moment to see the physical book. Of course, I’m bracing myself for the possibility of discovering more things to tweak, but fingers crossed that won’t be the case!

The Road to Launch

So, what’s ahead? The next few weeks are all about preparing for the official launch on October 19th. Here’s what’s on my plate:

Final Proofing & Submission: Once I’ve reviewed the paperback proof copy and made any last-minute changes, both the ebook and paperback will be submitted to Amazon for final review. After Amazon gives their approval, the book will be available for pre-order until the big release.

Website & Social Media: I’m working on making sure my website, Linktree, and Substack are all set up to present the book in the best possible way. I want The Human Relief Project to be easy to find across all channels, so it’s all about tightening up those details.

Spreading the Word: I’ll also be making some noise on Instagram and LinkedIn, plus doing some direct outreach to people I think might be interested in the book. It’s a busy time, but I’m excited to finally share this project with the world!

How You Can Support the Launch

When we get closer to launch, there will be simple ways you can support The Human Relief Project. Here are a few:

Share my posts on social media.

Write a review after reading the book (on Amazon or Goodreads).

Pre-order or order the book during the crucial first week of launch.

I’ll be sending out more detailed info on how to support the launch in about two weeks. But for now, if you know any podcasters, influencers, book reviewers, or anyone else who might be interested in the book, let me know! Every little bit helps when it comes to spreading the word.

Launch Drinks Invite 🎉🍷

To celebrate the launch, I’m hosting Launch Drinks for a small circle of family, friends, and you—my Substack supporters. It’ll be an intimate evening with good drinks, finger food (but no full dinner, sorry!), and plenty of conversation inspired by The Human Relief Project.

📅 Date: October 19th
⏰ Time: 7 PM - 10 PM
📍 Location: My home in Berlin

Since space at my home is limited to ~25 people, please RSVP by October 4th here, and only if you’re certain you can attend. No +1s, please — keeping it cozy!

A Final Note on the Author Journey

I’m loving the author journey—it's the first time in my life I can’t stop talking about something. If you’ve ever thought about publishing your own book, I’d be happy to chat and share what I’ve learned. Reading guides is one thing, but actually going through it? That’s when you really feel like a mix of Teddy Roosevelt’s Man in the Arena and Muhammad Ali after a punch to the face. 😅

Thanks so much for following along. Having you as part of my community means the world to me. Your support makes this journey even more special.

Cheers,
Max

Thanks for reading Max's Writing Studio! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and be among the first to know about new books.

Feierabend has a launch date! 🎉

It’s been exciting weeks in Max’s Writing Studio since I last wrote you. A lot has evolved with Feierabend, and I can’t wait to share the changes with you. But before I dive into that, I have something for you. 

Book Recommendations for your Summer reads 📚

Since I’m fully focused on publishing Feierabend, I haven’t produced anything for you all to read in a while. But, I have had the pleasure of reading some great books in the past months, and want to share two favorites with you.

Recursion, by Blake Crouch.

This thriller blends speculative fiction and near-future sci-fi. It’s a mind-bending exploration of time and memory through the lens of a NYC police officer and a brilliant scientist, packed into an emotional roller coaster. I couldn’t put it down, and my wife is hooked on her audiobook. Goodreads link here.

Nuclear War - A Scenario, by Annie Jacobson.

I’ve been secretly waiting for a new movie diving into the “what if” of nuclear war. So when I came across this non-fiction thriller, I had to check the pre-read, and got immediately hooked. I read the entire book in less than five days, because I just couldn’t believe how the first seconds and minutes of nuclear war unfold. The insanity of it is frightening, and I wished this book was purely fiction. Goodreads link here.

Side note: Blake Crouch also has an Apple TV+ series running for one of his other books, which I can highly recommend. 

I’m always looking for new reads, so let me know what you think I should read next in the comments or via direct message! 

OK. Enough about other books, and on to Feierabend 😉

New Book Title 🪄

When I wrote the initial manuscript, Feierabend quickly came to mind as a title. This German word captured perfectly the feeling some of the characters in my novel connected to the Human Relief Project.

However, after deciding to self-publish, I had to ask myself: for readers of books written in English, would this title entice them enough to stop scrolling through Amazon and click for more info on the book? After some sense checking with friends, and learning a lot about the reality of publishing books on Amazon, I realized this title would limit my audience.

So, I generated various alternative titles. Some more in line with the genre, some more outlandish. Many just didn’t feel right. One of the favorites was already taken by a dozen other books. Another wasn’t received well by my test readers. 

But, one title passed all the tests, and I’m thrilled to announce the new title: 

The Human Relief Project: When The World Stops Working

I feel goosebumps writing this. No turning back from putting my first book out into the world 🙃

Launch Date 📅

When I entered my sixth round of editing, I realized that I had to commit to a specific launch date. Otherwise, I would continue editing the book endlessly. There is always something you can adjust even on the 20th read, and if it’s just because you have evolved, both as a reader and an author, since your 1st read. 

So, *drum rolls*, the day when The Human Relief Project will be officially released, is the…

19th of October, 2024

Mark your calendars! I plan to host some celebratory launch drinks for friends, family, and my substack followers here in Berlin. More information to come in September.

Join the HRP Launch Team! 🚀 

A friend who self-published a book years ago first introduced me to the concept of a launch team. As somebody who feels quite uncomfortable with promoting my work, I initially didn’t want to make too much noise about the book. Therefore, having a launch team wasn’t relevant. 

However, over the past three months, I’ve changed my perspective. It would be a miss, if people for whom the novel could be a great read, don’t even get to hear of it. Readers who enjoy speculative fiction and near-future sci-fi, who like to explore “what if” scenarios at the intersection of technology and society, who wonder what AI will mean for work, and also those who are deeply curious about the meaning of work for a life well lived.

To help spread the word about The Human Relief Project, I am forming the HRP Launch Team 🎉

Here’s what we will do:

Brainstorm ideas to promote the book.

Make some noise ahead, during, and after the launch

Create a close-knit community that achieves something meaningful together.

Have fun!

Perks of Joining:

Get an inside look at the publishing process.

Receive an Advanced Reader Copy (ARC) and be one of the first people to read the final version of The Human Relief Project.

Help launch a meaningful piece of creative work.

Meet cool people and enjoy the experience.

Commitment:

About 1 hour a week in September and October 

If you are interested in joining, or want to learn more about it first, send me a message or email (maximilian.malterer@gmail.com) by August 19th. 

Wow, that was a lot of updates on the book :D I’m going back to editing now. Have fun with the book recommendations, and I hope you will reach out for joining the launch team.

Thank you, as always, for reading my writing! If you have one person in mind who might be interested in this post, share it. It’s public :)

Share

If you are not a subscriber and want to receive future updates on my books and insights into my writing, join my substack subscriber community.

Subscribe now

Feierabend Blues

DALL-E/Max M. Illustration.

Even though I said I would not publish with a regular cadence on this Substack, I still want to keep you updated on what’s happening in my studio :) No short stories or flash fiction in the making currently, as all my writing time these past two months has been dedicated to finishing my second novel’s initial manuscript, and (hopefully) doing the last iteration of my first novel Feierabend. 

I’m far from sharing much about my second novel, but I’d love to take stock of the rollercoaster journey that Feierabend has been in the past months. 

A Recap of my early Feierabend Journey

I outlined the first plot for Feierabend last August and then wrote the first draft between October and November. After a brief rest, I edited and reworked it, and by mid-December, I sent my first manuscript to friends for detailed feedback. Their responses arrived in January, and by mid-February, I had a revised version ready for proofreading. 

In late 2023 and early 2024, I found myself in a constant back and forth between self-publishing and traditional publishing. I loved the speed of self-publishing and the full creative control, but also wanted the guidance and collaboration with experienced professionals you often get when you go for the traditional publishing route. I finally decided to first try the traditional path for all the learning it promised me.

So while a dear friend was wrapping up the proofreading, I started querying agents.

Querying Agents

I sent out my first fifteen queries to agents that I had carefully selected based on the authors they represented and the kind of works they were looking for. As carefully as a first-time author new to the industry can probably do ;) 

It was an exhilarating moment, and I was buzzing with energy for days, secretly dreaming of an agent who would fall in love with my book and fight for me to get it out to a massive audience. However, my rational self knew that this would be highly unlikely. The industry is so competitive, and many agents only read one out of hundreds of manuscripts they receive. 

The toughest part for me is that it’s industry standard for agents to not send any feedback when they reject your work. You are already lucky, when, after usually eight to twelve weeks, you receive a short notification that your work was rejected. Given the sheer volume agents receive, I don’t blame them. But as a writer, you look at a black box that tells you nothing about the rejection reasons. Is it the story, the theme, the style, the query letter itself? You don’t know. 

By mid-March, I had queried over forty-five agents. Rejections started trickling in by April. Initially, I was excited even by negative responses, as it meant someone had looked at my work. But as rejections piled up, doubts crept in. Was the book good enough? Was it commercially viable? Should I try to publish in German first? Should I just drop Feierabend, and move on to my next novel? 

Seeking Professional Help

By this time, I had already received in-depth feedback from seven test readers, my proofreader, as well as some good hints from two experienced editors and two agents on how I might improve Feierabend. In between querying, I had done further adjustments and refinements to the novel, but I could feel it wasn’t yet the book I wanted it to be.

Before I became a writer, I’ve always loved receiving feedback on how to improve my work and myself, yet, hearing criticism of your writing was harder than any feedback I had ever received. The work is so personal, and I probably have poured hundreds, maybe more than a thousand hours, into my novel. Nevertheless, I wanted to get more feedback. It was my first book, and I was convinced - and still am - that I have so much still to learn about writing the books I desire to create.

So I decided to hire a professional editor for an in-depth manuscript assessment. I really wanted to understand from somebody with 15+ years of industry experience how I could improve my book to not only make it better, but also speak to a bigger commercial audience. Three weeks ago, after a month of waiting eagerly, I received the invaluable twenty-page assessment. It is packed with insights and ideas, and I can’t wait to make Feierabend a much better read by incorporating many of the suggestions. I can’t share too much, of course, but trust me that the sharpening of character journeys and fleshing out of certain parts of the story will be only to the reader’s benefit ;)

Finding my “Writer’s voice”

However, there was also some key feedback on introducing certain elements to Feierabend that would turn it into a very different kind of book, the kind I did not want it to be. This realization was maybe the most valuable insight coming out of the assessment. Since I picked up writing seriously, I’ve learned so much about the craft of writing a novel - plotting, character creation, world building, scene setting, style and tone, etc. I keep learning every week, every time I sit down in front of my keyboard and start working.

However, I realized that the hardest part to figure out as a writer is not the actual craft. It is to gain clarity on what kind of book you want to write. You can learn all the writing skills in the world, but if you have no clear vision on the unique personality of the novel you are giving life to, you will just get lost in all the feedback and market advice on what makes a great book. 

Don’t get me wrong, every writer should read a lot and learn from what is successful. After all, I do not want to write a book just for my own pleasure, a book that nobody else would care to read. That wouldn't give me meaning nor joy. Yet, I want to write a book that has certain readers in mind and that truly adds something novel to our collective literary works, something different in its plot, style, and character depiction. 

The Path Forward

As I write these lines to you, I feel a surge of energy and eagerness. Learning from my writers’ community and my editor's encouragement, I’ve decided to take the self-publishing route. It will allow me to publish Feierabend the way I envision it. 

It won’t be a typical sci-fi thriller, but a genre-combining book exploring some profoundly human questions in a future where work becomes obsolete. With characters who develop in very real ways on the page, a world whose dynamics feel tangible, and actors that can never be easily categorized as the typical protagonists and antagonists of a fictitious world. 

With some luck, the right readers will find their way to it. And I can’t wait to hear their thoughts about Feierabend. 

What’s Next

The next two months will be intense with more editing, proofreading, formatting, and preparing for self-publishing in early fall. I’ll share updates as we get closer to the publishing date. Exciting months ahead :)

Any questions on Feierabend or my writing journey? Tell me in the comments.

Thank you for reading my writing! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

Subscribe now

The Candidate Who Captivated a Nation

DALL-E / Max M. Illustration.

Inspired by elections happening around the world this year, this short story about a new political disruptor appearing in 2028 explores what we might truly seek as voters.

I was staring at my university diploma hanging above the TV, keeping an eye on the countdown against the backdrop of our nation’s flag.

5:11. 5:10. 5:09.

This was the moment to finally put an end to my parents’ constant haggling about my fledgling career. The time to finally achieve my dream of working for the country’s premier newspaper, instead of struggling to make ends meet with meager payouts from my local newspaper job and my struggling newsletter, whose nine subscribers hadn't heard from me in months.

4:13.

I took a small sip from my freshly brewed coffee, carefully avoiding the chipped corner of my favorite mug. As the warm liquid filled me with a sense of comfort and relaxation, Paula slowly opened the door to the living room and leaned heavily against the side of the door frame. Even at 6pm, she was still dressed in her beloved teddy bear pajamas that I had promised to keep as our lifelong secret. She stood there for a moment, her tousled hair falling in loose waves around her face, before finally making her way over to join me on the couch.

“What are you up to?”

A glance at the countdown: 3:34. I had to make this conversation brief.

"I'm watching a live stream of this teenage candidate's election rally." I replied, not taking my eyes off the screen.

"A teenage candidate? Who?"

I motioned for her to join me on the couch and said, "I'll explain later. Why don't you grab some coffee from the kitchen and watch with me?"

2:11.

Paula shrugged her shoulders.

“Do you want me to watch an election rally to wake up?”

To my surprise, it seemed she was genuinely considering the idea. All it needed was a final nudge from me.

“Yes, this will be the election of the century. Hurry, it’s starting.”

On the screen, the countdown and flag were replaced by a red rostrum against black curtains in the back.

Paula was back and sank into the couch beside me, the steam from her coffee weaving into the dim light of the room.

“This better be worth it, Mike.”

“Can’t promise. It’s my first rally, too. But there’s been a lot of buzz about this girl on Reddit. There are even multiple Subreddits dedicated to her.”

“A teenager running for president? How is that even possible?”

“Remember when, early in his second term, the president scrapped the age requirement for presidential candidates, claiming to democratize the race?”

“Of course.”

I knew she was lying; Paula never paid attention to current events. Her blissful ignorance, especially in her thirties, baffled me. She floated through life like a leaf carried by the wind, while I was on a constant chase for the next headline.

“Everybody knew he did it for his daughter, but nobody expected a random teenage girl to enter the race.”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“I thought so, too, but somehow this small-town girl is getting attention. I can feel it in my journalistic sixth sense that there is a major story here. One, that could finally put me on the map for The National Times.”

Paula just rolled her eyes. Before I could say more, a male voice came from the screen.

“Hello, beautiful souls, and a heartfelt thank you for bringing your light to this gathering. From every corner of our nation, and all walks of life, you've chosen to be here with us, to share a moment of hope and vision for a brighter tomorrow with Joan. Your time is precious, and that you're spending a slice of it here, with us, fills our hearts with gratitude. Today, Joan will share the three pillars that stand at the core of her journey towards change, pillars that she dreams of upholding as president. For those of you who've been with us before, who've lent us your ears and hearts, if you feel like sipping on your favorite drink before diving back in for the Q&A, we invite you to do so. Remember, this space thrives on your energy, your passion, and your incredible commitment to not just dream of a better future, but to actively shape it alongside Joan.”

This voice. I felt as if somebody had wrapped their arms around me to comfort me, and told me how amazing I was. My heartbeat decelerated, my breathing slowed down, even my muscles relaxed. From the corner of my left eye, I could see the same happening to Paula. What an incredibly talented speaker. Maybe he was the secret to Joan Johnson’s sudden rise. I began scribbling down some thoughts and observations.

“Now, let’s get this rally started properly. Please rise from the comfort of your seats and give it up for the wonderful, kind, and inspirational Joan Johnson.”

I don’t know why we did it, but Paula and I stood up simultaneously in our own living room and started clapping as the young woman I had read many comments about strode onto the stage. Johnson was wearing a forest green suit and white sneakers. As she settled in at the speaker podium, the camera zoomed in on her. She was wearing no jewelry, and only a hint of makeup, her green eyes intensely focused on us. Her dark hair was bound back into a simple ponytail. When she smiled into the camera, it was a smile I’d never before observed with a candidate. It was genuine and full of optimism. Everything about her radiated authenticity and sincerity, giving me not a single reason to speculate what her true, selfish motivation was for becoming president. As my heart raced with anticipation, I knew that this young woman had the potential to bring real change to our country.

When I glanced to my left, I saw Paula leaning forward over her knees, her gaze fixated on the screen with wide eyes, no signs of the earlier fatigue left in her. A woman who loved being oblivious to the world was engaged in a way that normally only her favorite fantasy books achieved.

“Hi everyone! Wow, I’m just blown away by seeing so many of you joining us today – people from every state of the country, every class, every race, every party affiliation, united by hope and a shared dream. You, people coming together from all walks of life, are the reason I decided to run for president in the first place. This country is a patient barely surviving, when we all know it could be thriving beyond our wildest dreams. We're like a hidden gem, waiting to shine brighter than we ever imagined. But it’s only together, by channeling our collective energy towards progress and embracing our differences, that we can transform this potential into reality.”

Paula was nodding wildly next to me, and I realized the Yeah Yeah I was hearing was coming out of my own mouth. Johnson had hardly said anything, yet I already felt on her side. Her words reasoned deep within me, igniting a familiar longing to stand together with others and be a force for good.

"I truly believe that it's time for a fresh start. Our past and present leaders have been caught in old patterns that brought out the worst in us, viewing the citizens in this country as greedy, selfish sheep that had to be controlled. They saw life as an endless zero-sum game that only the strongest nation could win, a toxic worldview that has brought us to the deep misery we find ourselves in.” She paused for a moment, slowly scanning from left to right, as if we were a physical audience right in front of her. “But here's what I see: a chance for renewal, a moment ripe for change. I stand before you, not shaped by those old battles, but driven by a vision of unity and joy. I'm here, ready and eager to be part of this journey with you, towards a future where everyone wins, a future filled with happiness and progress."

Johnson’s smile never vanished, her voice always soft even when she spoke these harsh truths. Any defense reaction I might normally have had was rendered useless by her angelic tone and youthful purity.

“I’m not as naive as to believe we can achieve this better future with pure willpower. It requires strong principles, impactful policies, and a decisive team. Today, let’s talk about the core principles that will guide us not just to victory in this election, but also shape our journey forward as we lead with heart and purpose. It's about laying the foundation for a governance that’s as successful and inclusive as it is visionary. Are you ready for them?”

I jerked my head to the right and squeezed my eyes together in pain. The YES Paula had screamed was still ringing in my left ear. I gave her my most infuriated look.

“Sorry. I’m getting excited.”

Paula excited by a politician? I definitely was on to something.

As Johnson laid out her principles, I struggled to maintain my journalistic objectivity. It was a challenge as she kept drawing me in with her words, evoking a sense of belonging I wasn’t familiar with. In all honesty, people could say many things about me, but being an eager follower for sure wasn’t one of them. From a young age, I had always been fiercely independent, and it was the driving force behind my choice to become a journalist; I saw it as the perfect fit to lean into my self-image as a critical thinker. However, something in Johnson’s presence made it hard for me to think objectively, so I decided it was best to just take thorough notes, and review them later when I was in a more sober state of mind.

-

The queue was inching towards entrance F, the massive stadium towering above us. It was one of the biggest in the country, able to hold over 150,000 people. In the past three months, Johnson had come a long way from that first online rally I had joined with its few hundred participants.

Documenting her meteoric rise to the top of the polls was the most exhilarating journalistic endeavor of my life. Also, the most rewarding, with my articles being featured in the most renowned publications in the country, including The National Times. As a leading expert on her, I barely had time for anything else. But that was ok. A teenager becoming president of one of the most powerful countries in the world – that was the stuff of fairy tales. And I was right at the forefront, recording history as it unfolded.

I passed the security check and moved slowly to my seat in the stadium, observing the mix of people around me. It was Johnson’s first in-person rally, and tickets had sold out within hours. Nothing I had to worry about, with Paula reserving one for me before they even went on sale. My flatmate becoming a volunteer on the inside of the campaign was not just one of the most surprising things happening in my life this past year, but also one of the most helpful for my writing.

Almost everyone around me had obliged to Johnson’s request and came dressed in the colors of our nation: black, white, forest green, and Ruby red. If it was a different candidate, people would call this a nationalistic rally. But with Johnson, this was just seen as one of her ways to unite people behind a bigger goal. Her outward youthfulness and naivety had washed any dark stains off the nationalist umbrella, and turned it into a tool for saving this country.

As I approached the VIP section, I spotted Paula directing a group of eager attendees. Her smile was radiant and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She seemed to be in her element, completely at ease and truly happy. Who would have thought that a single online rally would change both of our lives that drastically. From one day to the other, she had started caring about the world, using her time and talents to support the campaign. I still couldn’t get over her starting to get up before me and leaving a cup of freshly brewed coffee on the counter for me. In the midst of the crowd, Paula saw me and gave me a subtle wink. Grinning back, I made my way to the VIP section.

Walking into the stadium, I immediately felt the hairs on my back and arms stand up. Most seats in the stadium were already filled, and in front of me was a sea of colors – black, white, red, and green – all chanting Joan Johnson at me. The walls of the stadium were displaying forests and mountains against a blue sky, giving me the feeling of being in a huge open air arena in the middle of nowhere. A shiver ran through me. I can’t remember ever feeling so in awe, so united with my fellow peers in that moment.

As I settled into my seat, I tried to regain my objectivity and reminded myself that feeling overwhelmed in crowds was normal. It’s why people loved concerts and sports events. Spending most of my time behind a screen, I just wasn’t used to it.

To situate myself, I scanned the stadium. At its center was a round, red stage with the familiar speaker podium from all the online rallies. Besides the stage, and a white carpet leading to it, the entire floor of the stadium had been kept empty - an unusual sight for a campaign event, even more so given Johnson’s With the people platform. Was this intentional or just an oversight by an inexperienced candidate? It seemed unlikely.

Before I could give it more thought, a familiar and comforting voice echoed throughout the stadium.

“Hello, beautiful souls, and a heartfelt thank you for bringing your light to our first in-person gathering. From every corner of our nation, and all walks of life, you've chosen to be here with us to share another moment of hope. Joan couldn’t be more excited to see you all here, all united around one goal: to heal our division and move our country forward towards a brighter future. Now, let’s get this rally started properly. Please rise from your seats and give it up for the wonderful, kind, and inspirational Joan Johnson.”

As I rose from my seat together with 150,000 other people, clapping as if it was the last thing I would do in this life, I had a flashback to that very first online rally. It was almost eerie how consistent this teenager had been throughout her entire campaign. No wonder there were dozens of conspiracy theories on the web about who was behind her. All the usual suspects, as in any conspiracy theory, and further fuelled by the other two candidates who had really honed in on any possible attack that discredited Johnson due to her young age. So far she had not only anticipated every attack, but, like a martial arts fighter, had used it to get back at them even stronger. One of my freelancers was running an investigation into her intellect, our hypothesis being that she must be close to 200, given her ability to steer such a complex campaign machinery at such a young age.

As Johnson approached the stage, I put in my ear plugs which would replay her speech in a more factual tone. It was a technique I had developed to be less affected by her and stay objective. I positioned my tablet on my right knee, and got ready to take notes on everything I observed.

Johnson covered all her usual points. Her three principles, seven key policies, her core team once she got elected. She honed in multiple times on the need for uniting the country, and, in the same uncanny ability I had observed dozens of times before, merged seemingly contradictory views into a cohesive approach. My brain, and that one of many other observers, had struggled to comprehend how she could do that. Researchers had tried to explain it on public TV, but it’s the one thing I never understood about her. I just ignored exploring it in my reporting, and instead wrote superficially about her incredible ability to mend opposing views into something that just felt right to everyone in the room. After all, it was this ability above else that had turned voters across the entire political spectrum into diehard Johnson fans. I screened the people around me, all fully drawn in by her speech, not even taking a sip or a bite from their drinks and snacks. Hanging on every word on her lips. The now famous Johnson Effect, exactly the same in person as online. People were thirsty and hungry for what she had to say, starved of genuine connection after decades of a growing bipartisan chasm splitting the country in half.

Johnson spoke for about an hour, then left to make space for the others on her team. It was the first time I heard them speak. They all seemed to be older versions of Johnson, more experienced with less youthful optimism, but nevertheless the same kind, caring tone and focus on We and Us over I and Them. It was an impressive show of a cohesive team led by a teenager with a pure heart set out to reunite the country.

When the third of the six started speaking, I made my way out of the VIP section. I had come here with a very specific mission, and it wasn’t going to be achieved sitting in the stadium. Instead, I had to get backstage with the staff badge Paula had lent me. It hadn’t been easy to convince her. Only after I had laid out in depth how my reporting would help Johnson win the election had she given in.

The security guy scrutinized me vigilantly as I approached the entrance to the backstage area. I played it cool, just held out my badge to him and walked by him.

"Wait."

I spun around, putting on my best facade of surprise.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, you. I haven’t seen you entering here before, have I?"

“I was working the crowds entering the stadium all day. Just wrapped up and I'm off to catch up with my team leader for our daily debrief.”

His gaze sharpened, slicing through my rehearsed calm. My pulse hammered in my ears, but I fought to keep my face serene.

“The rally is not over.”

“I’m aware. Our team debriefs ahead of the larger crew.”

His eyes narrowed. "You're jittery."

“Of course. This is a huge day for all of us. If this event goes well, we are well set to win the election.”

Even though I wasn’t part of the staff, my in-depth reporting armed me with enough insider knowledge to bluff my way past security.

"May I move on now?" I injected a note of irritation, aiming for the perfect blend of indignance and haste.

He hesitated for a moment. I edged forward, bracing for him to stop me with more than words, but he relaxed slightly and gestured for me to pass.

“Sure.”

His stare bored into my back, unrelenting until I veered right at the intersection, disappearing into the heart of the backstage maze.

The area was completely deserted. Fuck. I had hoped to ask someone for Johnson’s whereabouts, move in quickly, ask my questions, and be out again. This was supposed to be a crucial piece for my next front page article, but there wasn’t enough time to check every room. I would have to try again at the next rally, and come better prepared.

As I was about to leave, I heard Johnson’s voice coming from a room on the right hallway. I tiptoed towards the open door and started catching a few words. There was a second voice in the room – one that sounded familiar. Mentally patting myself on the back, I realized it was the man who always did the rally openings, a figure nobody had ever caught a glimpse of. If I could snap a photo of him, the elusive mastermind in so many conspiracy theories, I had a cover article on my hands. Slowly, I slipped my hand into my front pocket and turned on my new Teenage Engineering recorder – a costly investment but worth every penny with its ability to capture words even from fifteen meters away with crystal clarity.

“...early stats look good…might have to replace Josh…weak spot in your team…”

“...like Josh…nobody more purpose-driven.”

“I know. But we have no place for emotions here. To achieve a united nation, you need the best team in place.”

“You said my biggest strength is my passion, my youthful energy to bring about a better world. Sometimes I feel you bring in the same rationality of the people we want to replace.”

My left hand already touched the door frame as I slowly pushed myself along the wall. I took the periscope camera out of my left pocket, ready to sneak it around the door frame to get a visual recording of the conversation. The voice of the man softened as he continued talking to Joan, and my shoulders relaxed as it had its usual effect on me.

“I won’t Joan. Never would I have convinced you to do this, if I had believed that one of the old politicians could bring about the same change. This country, and with it the world, is doomed if people cannot overcome their differences. My circuits have gone through all possible scenarios, and the one with the highest probability of success by far was a teenage girl of your nature and background becoming president.”

Circuits? What a geek. Just say brain.

“Why can’t you run for president yourself? You are anyway the one teaching me how to speak, how to behave, and even giving me the exact words I should say.”

Jackpot. That was juicy. Every major newspaper would kill for my article. All I needed now was a picture, so I very slowly moved the camera around the door frame. When I looked down at the tiny screen on my end of the camera stick, I almost gasped in surprise. The room was empty but for Johnson standing in its center and staring at a blue sphere projected into the air in front of her. Her hands were caressing the pendant on her necklace, the soft voice coming from that little marvel of technology. Damn it. No picture, no cover story. The man must be hiding somewhere far away, eager not to be seen in public, and even smart enough to not show himself in video calls. My heart raced with excitement and fear. This was like a scene straight out of a Hollywood movie, but it was happening in real life. I couldn't help but wonder about all the other theories that could be true.

“The country is not ready for something like me to run for president, won’t be for decades. A teenage girl, in a country that has elected neither a woman nor anyone below the age of forty-five, is as far as I can stretch things.”

Something. That weird choice of words again. As the man spoke, the sphere pulsated in perfect alignment with his words and tone. I realized that, although I had always labeled it as male, the speaker’s voice was actually so neutral that it could be attributed to any sex. What a brilliant choice when aiming to unite people across the entire country.

“Can’t you just build a robot that looks fully human?”

“Not yet. People will feel the difference. For our plan to work, we need you with all your youth, naivety, kindness, and endless optimism to lead us. I’ll be your serving mastermind in the background.”

“But this is so exhausting. I’m not ready for this.”

The sphere started expanding, until it was twice its previous size. I wasn’t sure if it was intended as a sign of threat or comfort, but once it spoke I feel a rush of confidence running through me.

“You are, and I’m always by your side. With you on stage, with your profiles on social media. In any physical and virtual space a Joan Johnson is present, I’m there to join and influence the conversation. Trust me, nobody knows better than me what people want to hear, the exact words that will bring them together. As long as you say the things I tell you, you’ll do fantastic.”

“What if this pendant somehow breaks?”

“That’s what the backups are for. Worst case, text me on your phone. I’ll find you wherever you reach out. Joan, I’ve chosen you for a reason. You are the only one that can win this election, and bridge the chasm in this country.”

Silence. Johnson was processing what the man had said. Or whatever he was. My eyes wide open, I tried to make sense of what I had just heard. Could it be that…? No it couldn’t. That was science fiction. My fantasy was taking over. I had spent too much time reading conspiracy theories. As my mind was racing to connect all the dots in my brain, Grace continued talking in her room. I glanced at the screen in my hands, seeing her usual smile replaced by a stern determination.

“Fine. I’ll be your human face to reunite the country.”

“More than just the face, Grace. My processing power is nothing without your human spark igniting it.”

Grace’s jaws softened, and she even blushed a bit, unable to escape the kindness of the affectionate voice.

“Now, it’s time to dress up, head back up for your final words, and get that crowd hyped to the max.”

“Ok. To the max it is.”

I pulled my camera back and turned to head out of the backstage area when I bumped into a broad chest. When I looked up, I stared straight into the angry eyes of the security guy. Before I could say something, I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my left side, like a horde of wasps all stinging the same spot simultaneously, and everything went dark.

-

My head was throbbing. Every fiber of my body was in pain. I felt more sore than even after the toughest workout. I opened my eyes to orient myself. Below me was the concrete of a pavement, in front of me the brick wall of a building. I turned to my right, realizing I was leaning against an identical wall of another building. Paula’s voice came from behind me.

“It’s about time you wake up.”

It sounded very compressed, as if she had to force herself not to lash out at me. How did we get here?

I slowly remembered what had happened before everything went dark. Joan Johnson. The mysterious voice. The security guy’s chest.

“They have taken all your gadgets. Deleted everything you had stored in the cloud. Fired your freelancers. You may continue to report great things about Joan Johnson, but if you only draft a single line about what you have observed here, they’ll make sure you will never publish anything again.”

I painfully turned my body to face Paula. I was used to her glares whenever I left the flat a mess, but this one was different. More fierce, more intense, more scary. What had happened to her?

“Have they hurt you? Have they forced you to say these things?”

“The only one who has hurt me is you. You had told me you wanted to get a glimpse of what it looks like behind the scenes, not that you wanted to eavesdrop on Joan. Whatever it is you recorded in there, they told me it would have damaged the entire campaign. The only hope there is for this country.”

“That’s a bit overly dramatic, isn’t it? I’m sure you know that…”

“Shut up. I told you everything you had to know. No word about today to anyone. Or…”

Her finger traced a lethal line across her throat before she turned and walked out of the alley. My mind raced as I watched her go, every thought aligning and connecting like puzzle pieces falling into place. In that moment, it all became clear to me – how Joan Johnson, a lone teenager, had managed to orchestrate such a powerful campaign, one that could potentially win an election and heal our divided country. But at what cost? Was I supposed to ignore the fact that an AI was pulling the strings? Was unveiling the truth my golden act of journalism, or would silence become my solemn vow to a nation clinging to a fragment of hope?

What do you think about the story? Tell me in the comments.

Thank you for reading my writing! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

Subscribe now

Sneak Peek of Feierabend: The Artist

DALL-E/Max M. Illustration.

The launch of Feierabend - The Final Clock-Out won’t happen for at least a few months, if not years. No matter if I find a traditional publisher, or take the self-publishing route in the end, the manuscript will still see more iterations. Nevertheless, I’m proud of the finished story I already have in my hands, and want to share a sneak peek with you all.

In this short excerpt, Alex, the Chief Relief Officer of the Human Relief Project, is taking a break from her day-to-day job of leading her organization towards 100% relief of all professions, and talks to a painter at an art exhibition she is visiting in Amsterdam.

I’m curious to hear what you think about it :)

Jose looked at her, waiting for more to come, and she observed him thoughtfully. The sadness in his eyes even though he smiled at her. The huge wrinkles around the corners of his mouth, way too many, testifying to more suffering than a normal person would typically endure at that age. While Jose must be a rare exception, his intense negative relief experience made her curious.

“Tell me, how did you overcome what you have painted here?”

“You asked me to be honest. So I’ll be.” He paused for a moment, making sure she was with him. “I haven’t fully conquered my pain. When I paint, then the questions are gone. I feel good. I do not think about the past or future, or any of the big philosophical questions. But when my monthly paint stipend runs out, usually half-way through the month, my dark thoughts come back. I have been using different support offerings for relieved people. None has helped me to put these dark thoughts to rest. I can’t stop wondering what the point of living is when what I create, AI can do too. What the point of a future for humans is, where all creation and progress is done by AI.”

“I understand. You are still processing the transition. I know from our studies that for some people it only takes days, for others it can take years. It seems you are on a good track, though, finding meaning and fulfillment in your painting.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not my daily existence that causes my suffering. It’s the anxiety of what awaits us once we hit the 100% mark. If all there is left for us to do is play, fuck, drink, and do art, if there is no struggle left, what will be the meaning of life?”

“That’s exactly the wonderful life 100% will enable. No more struggles. No more stipends running out too early. We will spend all our time doing things that give us joy and pleasure. There is much more to add to your list. Philosophy, spiritual activities, communal activities, parenting, mentoring, politics, tinkering and so much more that we can’t even envision yet. Especially the generation that will grow up with 100% in place already will show us what human potential can be unleashed when we do not have scarcity, and don’t spend our days on petty tasks.” 

“Is teaching a petty task to you? Is doing particle research a petty task to you?”

Before Alex could respond, Zoe, who had sneaked up on them, interrupted the discussion. 

“Alex, we need you on stage now. We will open the doors in ten minutes.” 

Alex felt a mix of relief and hesitation. Relief to get out of this negative conversation. Hesitation, because she wanted to know more about Jose’s story, his journey. She truly wanted to understand him. In the Hive, people like him were just a percentage on a screen, a statistic. Here, listening to him gave the numbers life. At the same time, she knew it wasn’t good for her stress levels, for her performance. As she had learned over the years, her curiosity needed to be kept in check for her to be the best leader for the HRP she could be. Her teams were already working on making post-relief transitions, such as Jose’s, easier. Nothing she could do for him now. 

“Thank you for the little tour, Jose. You gave me much inspiration for my welcoming speech. Wonderful work of art. I hope your suffering will not stay much longer.”

Jose only nodded back at her, his eyes betraying a hatred she had never before seen directed at her. Maybe not directed at her as a person, but at what she represented. Even though she knew that Security was guaranteeing her safety wherever she was, her back hairs were standing up with a sense of fear she hadn’t experienced before. 

The rest of the evening was less eventful, with her welcome speech falling short of the inspirational one she’d had in mind. Alex hit all the right points about the incredible impact the HRP was having for humanity, and the abundance that was ahead for them. But tonight she didn’t feel it. Her words felt empty, and she saw in the crowd that they didn’t hit home as they usually did. Afterward, interactions with various guests distracted her from her dark thoughts. Seeing many of the other pieces of art that depicted the joyful life, and the bright future ahead, gave her some ease. But when the evening ended, and she sat in her jet on the runway back to the Hive, the one thing that stuck to her was the look in Jose’s eyes. Her responsibility was weighing heavily on her, and she felt defeated, hated even. As the jet ascended into the sky, leaving Amsterdam and Jose behind, Alex felt the rare sensation of tears rolling down her cheeks.

Let me know how you like the style, the premise, the characters, or anything else that comes to mind when reading it in the comments.

Thank you for reading my writing! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

Thanks for reading Max's Writing Studio! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Barista Wednesdays: An Office Unfiltered

DALL-E/Max M. Illustration.

Something is off today. After a busy morning, I am just getting ready for a relaxing afternoon when I notice the buzz approaching my room. Before I realize what’s happening, people start coming in, all heavily engaged in conversations with each other. It is Barista Wednesday, so normally everyone should be outside after lunch. I glance through the window on my right. Where the barista’s coffee tricycle should be parked, all I can see are the gray cobblestones of the inner courtyard.

That’s odd. Especially given what a sunny day it is. My thermometer tells me it is twenty degrees outside! Why would the barista miss the year’s first onslaught of our sun-starved employees, who craved nothing more after lunch than the magic pouring out of the fancy Italian portafilter machine? A loss for him, a win for me. 

I have to be honest with you: I’m always a bit emotional on Wednesdays. On the one hand, I enjoy some peace here, with people getting their coffee outside. Nobody pushing my buttons. But simultaneously I have to admit I miss overhearing them talking about what’s happening across the office. 

This is by far the best spot in the whole building to really know what’s going on. Company newsletters and town halls pale in comparison. No higher level of candor exists than when two people pour out their professional hearts over a shared cup of coffee. I’m telling you, the things I had to listen to in my four years here. Phew! How unfair the salary is. That some coworkers are doing it loudly in the basement’s bathroom every Friday happy hour. How capitalism will eat us alive. Why 1on1s with George are the worst. Why 1on1s with Sybil are the best. How a cup a coffee is their savior. 

Sometimes I have to wonder if this office would still stand without my interventions. I won’t lie, it makes me proud that the obvious answer is ‘no it wouldn’t’.

The first group of people is approaching me, with Marcus leading the pack. Aww, Marcus! My favorite employee. He always touches me so gentle. I hardly feel him when he swipes his fingers across me, his push so soft that I couldn’t tell what he wants unless I knew him so well already. And it’s not just the physical interactions with him. Marcus is the kindest, most positive person in the whole building. One of the few employees who never has something negative to say. More refreshing than even the coldest milk from the fridge.

I know I shouldn’t have any favorites, and serve all employees equally. But hey, nobody will ever know. It’s not like I will proudly declare my love for Marcus publicly on my tiny screen. My cabling vibrates as I chuckle into my inner hull. If the people knew how funny I am. 

Marcus’ athletic body stops right in front of me. While I prepare his oat milk cappuccino, I slowly scan him from toe to head. My gaze finally rests on his face that seems to be distorted by a mix of sadness and anger. Something terrible must have happened if even Marcus lost his positivity. Maybe the barista was shot? I’ve overheard one woman from Product say that crime rates are going up in the city. 

If I could just ask Marcus what’s wrong with him. The last technician - who had no clue what he was doing - mumbled something about ‘The new ones can just tell me what’s wrong with them. Hope the company will upgrade this one soon’. Back then, his comment had made my tubes and pipes tighten up, but now I too wished for the ability to speak.

After I finish pouring the cappuccino, Marcus picks it up carefully with his muscular fingers, and steps away. Finally, I can catch a few words from the group’s conversation. The woman right behind Marcus is speaking. It’s Greta from Marketing, her hands flowing hysterically in all directions, her high-pitched voice tingling through every bolt and nut in my body. I’m getting so agitated that I accidentally start using soy milk for her almond milk flat white. Too late. I hope she won’t notice. 

‘We have to do something guys. They can’t just take the barista away from us and make us drink the stuff from this coffee machine. It’s part of our perks!’

With her condescending tone as usual, I’m kind of glad that I’m pouring the wrong milk into her flat white. Payback for all the times she complained how I’m an affront to all coffee aficionados working at the company.

‘Seriously guys, it’s only downhill from here. I’ve seen it before. First it’s the barista, then the Christmas party, then it’s layoffs.’

If I could, I would shudder with all this unnecessary drama. Come on Greta, it’s just a barista! Who didn’t even exist three months ago. I can’t help it, and blow off some steam. Bad timing!

The steam hits Greta’s hand as she is about to take her flat white. Startled by it, she drops the cup, and it shatters into a thousand pieces. Poor cup. It hadn’t been long with me yet. Luckily, I’ve given up on team building exercises with the cups, they come and go too quickly. 

Greta’s head jerks angrily at me, her eyes wide open with her left one twitching rapidly, then turns back to the group.

‘You see? This coffee machine is a joke!’

She lets out a deep grunt and rushes away towards the restroom, leaving me with a tiny sense of satisfaction. I wish I could do more than just blow out steam and tell Greta the harsh truth about what I had heard the CFO say to the CEO late last night. She would shatter like the cup. Not only the barista, also the monthly Michelin chef sessions will be scrapped. Despite the company demonstrating record growth.

Well, we all know what is going to happen next. People will talk about nothing else all week, then the CEO will host a town hall to explain how it all connects to the overarching mission. After some initial grumbling, people will move on. As long as I stay around, one coffee intervention at a time, things will settle back to normal.

Tell me about another employee who has more impact than me?

Thought so. Now take your coffee and have a good day <3

My second piece of flash fiction with a fresh perspective on the modern workplace. Let me know in the comments what you think about it, and if you enjoyed it please share it with someone who needs some entertaining distraction ;)

Thank you for reading my writing! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Share

Thanks for reading Max's Writing Studio! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Imagining Tomorrow: The Story Behind Writing 'Feierabend'

“‘Finally relieved from the hassle of work? Congratulations, and welcome to the true Age of Enlightenment!’ Verse advertisement, Summer 2042” Feierabend, by Max Malterer 

Why I wrote Feierabend

I remember vividly how the desire to write a novel has grown in me over the past years. First, it was a faraway glimmer somewhere in my mind. Then, when I went on a mental health journey, and started embracing my creative soul more fully, the glimmer grew into a bright fire.

Last summer, I finally decided to do it. I had recently decided to take a career break, and found myself with enough time and mental freedom to focus on a serious creative endeavor. There was no space left for excuses. I set out on the most exciting, and passion-fueling project I have done in many years.

My inspiration for the book came from three main sources. 

First, my fascination with artificial intelligence. While a lot of media hype was and still is being made about the technological element of recent AI advances, I found the more interesting aspect of what these reveal about human nature. 

Second, my love for near-future sci-fi that lets one explore realistic what-if scenarios at the intersection of technology and society. Classics like Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars trilogy, or newer novels such as American War by Omar el Akkad, are thought-provoking reads that allow to explore possible futures, and how those reflect on our current state of human affairs.  

Third, my personal struggle over the past years with finding meaning at work. 

All these three came together in an idea for a near-future sci-fi novel that would allow me to explore the impact of AI on work, meaning, and a fulfilling life.

“Bert couldn’t wait to tell his two best friends from his time at university about Liz at their annual reunion this afternoon.”

How I wrote it

Last August, I wrote the plot for Feierabend. 20 pages with a rough idea of the world, characters, and major plot twists. Then I took six weeks off to go hiking and spend time with my family. In mid-October, back at home in Berlin, I finally kicked off writing the book and filling the plot with life. 

It has been such an incredibly rewarding process! With many lessons for myself, not just as a writer, but also as an individual. At times, it felt as if the story was shaping me more than I was shaping the story.

When I started out writing the book, I found myself for the first time since my childhood doing something purely intuitively. Initially, I checked out a few articles and courses on story structures and writing processes, but quickly found my creative energy worn down by those. Since I had no intention to publish the book and rather write it for myself, I put all the How to Write XYZ guides aside, and just went with the flow. There was no external pressure to deliver, no expectations to be met. This mindset set me free.

Still, getting started each day wasn’t easy. It felt similar to pushing myself to do sports because I know it’s good for me. But once I got started typing, there was no more need to push myself. The hours just flew by. The words poured out of me. New ideas popped into my head all the time. How to let Bert experience his work? What if the antagonist is more like a fellow protagonist? Why does society react this way? Creating and shaping a world that might come about in the future, is a fascinating experience. It put me into flow state. Four, five, sometimes six hours until my creative battery for the day was empty. For almost two months. 

On a sunny, yet freezing mid-December day, and after countless hours of writing, editing, and rewriting, I had the first manuscript in front of me. 70,000 words. A cool story, with big themes, in an intriguing future world. I went to our balcony, grabbed a bottle of ice-cold Augustiner beer, my favorite from my hometown Munich, and celebrated this major milestone, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and incredibly at peace.

But the writing didn’t stop there. It was time to get the manuscript in front of some readers. Luckily, I had the privilege of seven dear friends volunteering to read my book over Christmas. The conversations with each of them about their impressions, their questions, and their feedback were just wonderful. I believe any fiction writer will understand that magical feeling of hearing others talk about your characters and world, making your world their own. 

My test readers gave me a lot of inspiration for how to improve my first manuscript — bring out the characters’ development better, add more descriptive style elements, sharpen some themes. I even changed the ending of the book, with major revisions and additions in the final chapters. Almost 20,000 words later, I found myself with the final manuscript in my hand. It was a step-change compared to the first one. The whole story got even more exciting to read and talk about. With this final manuscript, I was ready to start my journey of finding an agent.

“‘Come on, Bert, stop that missionary bullshit. What are you, a HRP priest now, telling me to just blindly believe? People won’t take that shit anymore.”

An agent?

Yes. Throughout my writing, the desire grew in me to share the book with a broader audience. So I decided not to just write it for myself, but to publish it. After a thorough comparison of the pros and cons, I opted for doing so with a traditional publisher, which for the bigger ones requires me to work with an agent. Of course, an agent also has the benefit that I will work with a professional who will help me make the book the best that I could write.

Now, finding an agent isn’t easy. I’m hardly the only new writer on the block ;) But I truly believe my book can entertain and inspire people. Maybe even provoke a public conversation not just about AI, but the broader meaning of work for us. 

I’ll write a separate post one day on my journey to pick between traditional publishing and self-publishing. There are still days, when self-publishing tempts me, especially when considering that traditional publishing can take up to three years for your book to be out there.

(If you know an agent, or even an editor at a publishing house, that is working with authors in genres such as near-future sci-fi or speculative fiction, let me know!)

Max, what is Feierabend about?

Oh yeah, time to tell you more about it.

Feierabend is a near-future sci-fi novel that plays in a world in the late 2030s and early 2040s where advancements in artificial intelligence are rapidly rendering human labor obsolete. At the heart of this transformation is the Human Relief Project (HRP), an organization aiming to liberate humanity from the toils of work. Bert, a simple HRP frontline employee, initially embraces this new era with missionary zeal. However, as he oversees the relief of diverse professions, from hairdressers to researchers, he begins questioning the implications of this utopian ideal. His personal life, strained by a partner grappling with her role in this new society, friends despising his work, and a father capitalizing on anti-AI sentiment, reflects the broader societal conflict.

Parallel to Bert's story is Alex, the Chief Relief Officer of the HRP. Her vision of a perfect society is burdened by political challenges and ethical dilemmas, making her a compelling and multifaceted character.

Bert’s and Alex’s interwoven stories delve into themes of identity, the role of labor in human fulfillment, and the impact of technology on society, as both of them head towards a shared disaster that changes the very fabric of their lives. 

Feierabend offers a narrative that is as much about personal discovery as it is about societal evolution. Its blend of speculative fiction, human drama, and social commentary echoes works like Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story, Matt Haig’s Midnight Library, and Ling Ma's Severance.

I will share more about my writing process and publishing journey in the future. Maybe even a whole post on my choice of book title.

If you haven’t yet, make sure to subscribe to receive new posts, as well as of course the exciting news when I have found an agent and a publisher :)

Subscribe now

What do you think about my writing journey and the themes of the novel? Any questions about Feierabend? Share your thoughts in the comments :)

What's Wrong with Tuesdays?

DALL-E/Max M. Illustration.

This is my first attempt at flash fiction about… well, that's a secret for now ;) But don't worry, it's hardly spanning more than a page, so you will know soon. I hope it brings a smile to your face.

What’s wrong with Tuesdays?

Jess closes the door right in font of me. If I had been only a few steps faster. How much I crave to be in that room. 

Every Tuesday, Jess comes out of it in a state of frustration and anger. Sometimes she takes me out for a walk afterward. It seems to calm her. Other times, she walks straight to her desk and lumps into her seat. While she likes to chat with me at home, in the office we limit ourselves to touches. It would make her colleagues uncomfortable if she talked to me. 

I avoid talking to her as well. On my first day at the office, I was very excited about everything and everyone. I let the people around me know. One guy gave me a mean look. I don’t know what had happened to him. My cheerfulness and positivity didn’t make it across the room to him. Somehow, he must have infected Jess, too. She hushed me. I learned quickly that at the office I had to keep my excitement to myself. ‘You are welcome there as long as you are quiet.’ Jess had told me the evening after my first day. Since then, I only speak up when I can’t hold my pee any longer. It’s the only exception. Even hunger and thirst I ignore to make Jess happy. She deserves it. 

She doesn’t deserve whatever happens in that room every Tuesday. I wished she would tell me about it. But she never speaks about it. So I’ve started my own investigation. Here is what I know so far. 

The meeting always happens at 2:30pm. 

As soon as her friend Amie exits the room, Jess walks from her desk to the room. 

A man with blond hair whom Jess calls Bill, but everybody else calls Jerk, is already inside. From what I have observed, he does many meetings one after another. By the way, he is the one who gave me a mean look on the first day.

You cannot hear anything that is said inside the room. 

The room has a big window with milky glass. Only silhouettes are visible inside. 

Jess is in a worse mood on Tuesday than usually. 

Amie once had water running down her cheeks. I’m sure it was what humans call tears. My gut tells me they weren’t caused by happiness. 

From all these observations I have drawn the brilliant conclusion that something unpleasant is happening inside. I’m determined to find out what. 

Today is the day. When the door shuts in front of me, I put my paw on the glass and very slowly scratch with my nails. It makes an excruciating sound. I can hear Jerk’s muffled voice from inside the room. The door opens and Jess looks at me with a mix of bewilderment and annoyance. I don’t know what is going through her mind. Before she can say something I pass her and make myself comfortable in the corner of the room. 

‘Get him out of the room. This room is dog-free zone.’

‘Sorry, Bill. I don’t know what’s wrong with him today. He has been jittery all day. He won’t make a noise. Please, let’s just continue with our one-to-one.’

‘Fine.’

Jerk doesn’t sound pleased. I hardly can hide how pleased I’m at myself. While my mouth stays shut, at least my tail has to wag a bit. I made it into the mysterious room! One-to-one. That must be a secret code for whatever was about to happen. As Jess and Jerk continue their conversation, I find a rare sensation rising in me. Maybe it is the words coming out of Jerk’s mouth. Maybe it is his tone. I don’t know. I just feel the urge to protect Jess. This man is so mean to her. Every day in the office, she has hardly any time for me. Only for her laptop. All day long, she types away at it. Interspersed by deep inhales and exhales, and a coffee break every once in a while. A colleague once even told her that she works too hard. And here is Jerk criticizing everything, telling Jess about all her shortcomings, even dropping that a child could do her work better. She doesn’t defend herself. Just nods and promises to do better the next day. ‘You better do!’ he says with a raised voice. That is too much for me. Nobody talks like that to my Jess. While I’m well-trained and know how to behave myself, I have no problem with letting my natural instincts take over when the situation requires it. Like this one. All I have to do is imagine that Jerk’s leg is a tasty pork ear to chew on. Oh how much I’d like to have that right now. The new vegan dog food Jess is giving me doesn’t really satisfy me. Oh dog lord, what would I give for that pork ear right now. Saliva starts to run down the corners of my mouth. Just one bite of that tasty pork ear. 

‘Ouuuuuch. Ahhh. Get that FUCKING DOG off me!’

‘STOP IT Bob!’

Before Jess can pull me off the pork ear I let it go. The denim taste of Jerk’s jeans had immediately destroyed my carefully envisioned pork ear illusion. Jess grabs me by my collar and drags me out off the room and over to my little sofa underneath her desk. I can hear her chuckling. In a booming voice that the whole room can hear she tells me ‘Stay here, you bad dog.’ Then she bends over and puts her lips on top of my head. Her whispered words confuse me. ‘You are the best Bob. You made my day.’

The rest of the day passed in a blur for me. I just couldn’t decide if I had done something good or bad. No other dog was around to ask for an opinion either. Jess settled it for me that night, when, against my new vegan dog diet, she bought me a huge pork ear. While I spent the evening chewing it on the carpet in front of our TV, Jess was on the phone with Emma. I had never seen her in such a happy state on a Tuesday evening. ‘You won’t believe what Bob did today…Yes…that jerk totally deserved it…’ 

What do you think about the story? Should I write more of it? Tell me in the comments.

Thank you for reading my writing! This post is public, so feel free to share it.

Share

Thanks for reading Max's Writing Studio! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Why am I launching Max's Writing Studio?

DALL-E/Max M. Illustration.

Hi there! Welcome to my substack space. 

After over a decade of dabbling with writing, I finally committed to taking it seriously in 2023. I wrote my first novel Feierabend. And I’m already on the second one. 

But novels take a long time to reach readers. Especially if, like me, you take the traditional publishing route. I miss the interaction with readers, the thrill of hitting a ‘send’ button. Also, there is so much in writing to play around with that might never make it into a novel.

So, I have decided to create this substack as my public playground, my personal digital gallery, my open studio. It’s a space where I can explore the art of writing in its many facets, and share it with you my dear reader. To entertain you, make you smile, provoke new thoughts, and maybe even provide some inspiration for your own inner creative soul.

In this space you’ll find written pieces about my novels, thoughts on the journey as a writer, and experiments with different formats - currently it’s flash fiction. Who knows, I might even explore screenplays in the future ;)

I won’t have a fixed cadence of publishing posts. I also, don’t have a paid subscription. Going commercial here would prevent me from playing with my art.

Of course, I always appreciate support for my writing in the form of sharing it with more people, some generous feedback, and connections to agents and publishers.

Enjoy looking around my studio! The post on my first novel Feierabend, or the flash fiction What’s Wrong with Tuesdays? are good starting points.

Oh, and in case you haven’t yet, please subscribe to not miss out on my future pieces :)

What would you like me to write about? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Subscribe now