Go ahead, dream about the future

Every science fiction writer has a story
about a time when the future arrived

too soon.

I have a lot of those stories.

Like, OK, for example,

years ago I was writing a story
where the government

starts using drones to kill people.

I thought that this was
a really intense, futuristic idea,

but by the time the story was published,

the government was already
using drones to kill people.

Our world is changing so fast,

and there's a kind
of accelerating feedback loop

where technological change
and social change feed on each other.

When I was a kid in the 1980s,

we knew what the future
was going to look like.

It was going to be some version
of Judge Dredd or Blade Runner.

It was going to be neon megacities
and flying vehicles.

But now, nobody knows
what the world is going to look like

even in just a couple years,

and there are so many scary apparitions
lurking on the horizon.

From climate catastrophe
to authoritarianism,

everyone is obsessed with apocalypses,

even though the world ends
all the time and we keep going.

Don't be afraid to think about the future,
to dream about the future,

to write about the future.

I've found it really liberating
and fun to do that.

It's a way of vaccinating yourself

against the worst possible case
of future shock.

It's also a source of empowerment,

because you cannot prepare for something
that you haven't already visualized.

But there's something
that you need to know.

You don't predict the future,

you imagine the future.

So as a science fiction writer

whose stories often take place
years or even centuries from now,

I've found that people are really hungry
for visions of the future

that are both colorful and lived in,

but I found that research on its own
is not enough to get me there.

Instead, I use a mixture
of active dreaming

and awareness of cutting-edge trends
in science and technology

and also an insight into human history.

I think a lot about what
I know of human nature,

and the way that people have responded
in the past to huge changes

and upheavals and transformations.

And I pair that with
an attention to detail,

because the details are where we live.

We tell the story of our world
through the tools we create

and the spaces that we live in.

And at this point, it's helpful
to know a couple of terms

that science fiction writers
use all of the time:

future history and second order effects.

Now, future history is basically
just what it sounds like.

It is a chronology of things
that haven't happened yet,

like Robert A. Heinlein's
famous story cycle,

which came with a detailed chart
of upcoming events

going up into the year 2100,

or, for my most recent novel,

I came up with a really
complicated timeline

that goes all the way to the 33rd century

and ends with people
living on another planet.

Meanwhile, a second order effect
is basically the kind of thing

that happens after the consequences
of a new technology or a huge change.

There's a saying often attributed
to writer and editor Frederik Pohl

that a good science fiction story

should predict not just the invention of
the automobile but also the traffic jam.

And speaking of traffic jams,
I spent a lot of time

trying to picture the city of the future.

What's it like? What's it made of?

Who's it for?

I try to picture a green city
with vertical farms and structures

that are partially grown
rather than built,

and walkways instead of streets,

because nobody gets around by car anymore,
a city that lives and breathes.

And, you know, I kind of start
by daydreaming the wildest stuff

that I can possibly come up with,
and then I go back into research mode,

and I try to make it as plausible
as I can by looking at a mixture

of urban futurism, design porn
and technological speculation,

and then I go back and I try to imagine
what it would actually be like

to actually be inside that city.

So my process kind of begins
and ends with imagination,

and it's like my imagination
is two pieces of bread

in a research sandwich.

So as a storyteller, first and foremost,

I try to live in the world
through the eyes of my characters

and try to see how they navigate
their own personal challenges

in the context of the space
that I've created.

What do they smell? What do they touch?

What's it like to fall in love
inside a smart city?

What do you see when you look out your window, and does it depend on how the window software interacts with your mood? And finally I ask myself how a future brilliant city would ensure that nobody is homeless and nobody slips through the cracks. And here's where future history comes in handy, because cities don't just spring up overnight like weeds. They arise and transform. They bear the scars and ornaments of wars, migrations, economic booms, cultural awakenings. A future city should have monuments, yeah, but it should also have layers of past architecture, repurposed buildings, and all of the signs of howe we got to this place. And then there's second order effects, like how do things go wrong, or right in a way that nobody ever anticipated? Like, if the walls of your apartment are made out of a kind of fungus that can re-grow itself to repair any damage, what if people start eating the walls? Speaking of eating, what kind of sewer system does the city of the future have? It's a trick question. There are no sewers. There's something incredibly bizarre about the current system we have in the United States, where your waste gets flushed into a tunnel to be mixed with rainwater and often dumped into the ocean. Not to mention toilet paper. A bunch of techies, led by Bill Gates, are trying to invent the toilet right now, and it's possible that the toilet of the future could appear incredibly strange to someone living today. So how does the history of the future, all of that trial and error, lead to a better way to go to the bathroom? There are companies right now who are experiment with a kind of cleaning wand that can substitute for toilet paper using compressed air or sanitizing sprays to clean you off, but what if those things looked more like flowers than technology? What if your toilet could analyze your waste and let you know if your microbiome might need a little tune-up? What if today's experiments with turning human waste into fuel leads to a smart battery that could help power your home? But back to the city of the future. How do people navigate the space? If there's no streets, how do people even make sense of the geography?