My libertarian fiction is a warning, not escapism

My works share one common denominator: They’re libertarian fiction, and they will throw casual readers off because they can’t escape into my worlds.

This morning, I read a frightening article by The Wise Wolf entitled The Government Now Wants Every American Wearing a Privacy-Invading Tracking Device.

Of course, they’ll sell this to the masses with the usual it’s “for your own good” lingo. But the realities are much darker, like the Patriot Act, to lay out an example.

Proponents will claim it’s not only “for your own good,” but for our safety as a society, ignoring the invasion of privacy this system will bring as it regulates all biological functions. It will even predict your mood and actions based on those functions.

This device, most likely, will be worn on the wrist. And if you’ve read my books, you’ll know that many of my characters wear something similar. That article reminded me why I included what I call “watch phones” in most of my fantasy series in the Renegades Epic shared universe.

If you’re new here, you might ask why such high tech exists in fantasy. That’s where my genre-fusion comes in. Regardless of which genre I dive into, I fuse together others, mainly because I want themes that readers can relate to the here, now, and near future to shine through.

My libertarian fiction is anything goes in terms of genre

Two works-in-progress that I’m tackling now also explore intentional genre mismatches before I dive into the primary genres, themselves. There is less genre-fusion here, but ironically, these two works couldn’t land in more different genres.

In my dystopian survival trilogy, Beyond the Lost, I write an extended Prologue depicting the protagonist, Quinn Cozens, reflecting on his recent past. The nostalgic feel gives you slice-of-life vibes before all hell breaks loose in Chapter 1 and Quinn barely escapes a terrorist attack that ends America as we know it.

Another work, Days of Magic, set to be released in late 2027, kicks off in a dystopian landscape. One not much different from what The Wise Wolf lays out as a near-future reality for the developed world.

Come Chapter 1, I thrust the reader into a Hallmark-like world of wonder, with the narrator from that dystopian Prologue sharing a story passed down from generation to generation of what life was like before collectivism’s chokehold.

Across my work—whether dystopia or fantasy—I use genre mismatches deliberately to show how control systems don’t announce themselves as evil. They arrive as convenience masked in safety.

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