What’s your favourite scene you’ve written recently? Tell us about it without spoiling the entire novel.

Rodger bounced in his leather seat as the rover bucked across the harsh lunar terrain. Beneath a dark red glow, his cab stank of hydraulic fluid and rattled like a maraca. He sawed at the steering wheel, sending the rover sideways. It skipped across the moon’s surface with chunks of lunar rock thuding against its titanium hull. It was dark. Only a narrow corona of headlights illuminated the lunar surface in front of him. He glanced down at the instrument panel which blinked in a rainbow of switches, toggles, and buttons controlling the eight-ton beast. The navigation HUD to his left showed IPM045—the inhospitable, atmosphere-less speck of rock he was rattling over. His eyes drifted up to the massive planet he was orbiting—Ithaca Prime. A cauldron of red-orange radioactive storms churned across its barren surface. “One more month, then its—” Wham. The Rover slammed to one side, bucking Rodger, and knocking a tool bag from the storage rack behind him, sending wrenches clattering across the confined cab. “Fucking hell.” His grip tightened over the worn steering wheel as a klaxon wailed and a Christmas tree of lights blinked above. Damn rock. Rodger flicked toggles one by one, silencing the Rover’s telemetry warning. “End of season can’t get here soon enough.” “What was that, Rodger?” The silky yet spunky voice of his Mine Boss echoed through the confined cab. “Nothing. All good.” Rodger fiddled with the comms switch, turning the volume lower. “Didn’t seem like nothing. Did you wreck my rover already?” “Don’t worry about it, Daph. I’m almost to the dig site.” “Yeah. Yeah. Just don’t bring it back like last time or you’ll owe me another pint of Greymurk.” “Maybe I’d like that.” “And maybe you’d learn a better way to fancy a woman than breaking her toys, huh?” “Well—” “Keep me posted. Kilo 2-1 out.” Rodger kicked the hi-beams, sending another warning light across his face. The Rover’s headlights cast a dull glow through a cloud of silt like ghostly fingers. He tucked his chin and laid into the accelerator, sending an electronic groan across the cab like a wounded animal. Three and a half weeks, then planet—

I've been experimenting with my drafting lately. Like a mad scientist. Obsessing over my prose in a way that departs from how I normally draft -- not consciously, but like a background program I can't turn off. To be fair, certain aspects of my writing have suffered. I miss beats. I overwrite description. I meander. Unacceptable -- I know. But my first drafts now seem to come alive on the page, rather than feeling flat or contrived. I'm curious if others have had success mixing up their own process and seen noticeable improvement. Where do you strike the balance between drafting immersion and prose discipline? Or is this just some feeble attempt to satisfy that gaping hole in my ego that begs to write like Cormac McCarthy? Don't answer that last one... Might be a good conversation for tomorrow's Q&A.

What’s one sci-fi idea or concept that instantly grabs your attention every time? Examples: - generation ships - first contact - AI uprising - time travel - ancient alien tech - multiverse chaos - mechs - cybernetics - cosmic horror

Who’s your favourite artificial intelligence, android, synthetic, or robot in science fiction? Bonus points if they’re emotionally unstable.