The Mad Beauty of Writing: How MY LAST FRIENDS on EARTH got to the finish line

I’m thrilled the novel is out, and grateful for the positive feedback it’s received.

But writing is a strange process. It’s not super natural for me. It’s not a gift. It’s not a wild talent.

It’s a compulsion.

I’m not always aware of it, but I write to examine myself and the world: what I believe, what I think, what I hope for, what moves me, what scares me.

In My Last Friends on Earth, a YA dystopian sci-fi/fantasy, the kids (15, 16 and 9) are up against existential threats—fictional versions of what we are all up against today: data-mining, mega-surveillance, manipulated polarization, discrimination, inequity, the breakdown of community, rising authoritarianism—and other creeping forces that threaten our children’s future.

The first draft clocked in at a bloated 111,000 words, written in third person. The manuscript did receive positive feedback from some readers, but did not fully resonate with me. It would eventually be published in first person, 66,000 words.

So what was missing?

After countless rewrites, the characters in the story—the kids—gave me the answer.

How?

They would literally wake me at night—triggering my anxieties—yelling about the trouble and danger they’re not equipped to deal with.

I could relate.

“You put us here. You set up the premise and the dangers. Figure out who we are so we can fight the cruelest empire in three galaxies. We need help.”

I still had to maximize chapter cliff-hangers and wild action. But I realized my real job was to imbue these kids with sufficient inner life—character, resilience, fortitude, instincts, vulnerability, humour and a moral compass—to make their resistance ring true.

From a literary point of view, I can’t say if I succeeded. I certainly hope some bright readers experience the passion and adventure I was trying to convey. But my biggest failure, my lack of resilience, would have been abandoning the storytelling journey itself by not re-imagining, re-thinking and re-writing until I discovered not only who the kids were, but who they could become.

After that, they were on their own.

I had done all I could to prepare them for the fight. I could finally release them to you, the reader.

In the process, I realized something else—something even deeper.

In my desperate rewrites, I was simultaneously and subconsciously trying to convince myself that my own kids, and yours, with guidance and love, could also—if necessary—find the courage, vision, decency, deep friendships and solidarity, to fight back against inequality, injustice, big lies and tyranny.

That rewrite—guiding our kids by example toward kindness, resilience, courage and freedom—must never end.

The Launch is On: My Last Friends on Earth

I hope you're all well.

I’m writing to share an exciting moment for me. After years of work, my new YA sci-fi/fantasy novel My Last Friends on Earth is finished. And I'm still in love with it. In fact, the love got deeper recently. Just in the fine-tuning. Maximizing moments. Elevating themes through action. It was thrilling.

Most of you know my creative work from novels (Understanding Ken), documentaries (Facing Ali, Spirit Unforgettable), or my music.

My creativity has always reflected what I believe, what I’m trying to understand, or what I still hope is possible. The spirit of this book feels like the truest reflection of those ideas, hopes, and dreams—for our kid

, for us, for the future—minus the dystopian setting.

My Last Friends on Earth is a story about what it means to fight back—even against impossible odds and terrible enemies—without losing your soul. It’s suspenseful, hopeful, dramatic, heartbreaking, and funny—big-themed and big-hearted.

In short, three young fugitives—a fifteen-year-old raised in a data lab, a sixteen-year-old warrior, and a nine-year-old genius—discover that fearless friendship, unlikely allies, radical courage, kindness, and uncovering the hidden truth of human history may be their only hope against a ruthless, invading empire.

The writing journey itself was remarkable. The more I rewrote, the clearer and louder the characters’ voices became, until any time I was close to giving up, they’d wake me in the night yelling, “Shut up and rewrite! We’re risking our lives here!”

I’m not kidding.

With the launch approaching (exact day not yet known—but soon), I’ll be posting short updates—behind-the-scenes moments, early looks, and the official launch link.

I’ll definitely need support with the launch—to fight the algorithm.Yes, we can conquer that beast together.

Thank you so much for being part of this journey. It means a lot to me—and even more to the kids in the story.

For the record, they’re still on the run. I think I’ve lost my mind.

With gratitude,

Pete

MY GREATEST HITS: ONE MILLION Clicks From STARDOM

Dreaming, circa 1990

Why do I write? Why do we create? A vast question. We even write to answer that question. What I am sure of is: art creates a bridge between strangers because we’re not actually strangers at all. We're stubbornly, collectively, sometimes wonderfully human.

A friend once told me: “Anybody over 50 still writing songs has a mental illness.” He might be right. Maybe it’s neurotic compulsion. But maybe what appears to be madness is actually devotion.

This human has written songs for decades. I marvel at how the person I used to be, excited and lost in writing—and just plain lost—is still here with me, right now in the warm light of this Vancouver morning, thinking about songs.

I’ve spent my adult life chasing songs I hope are beautiful—an elastic, subjective word—while staying true in sound, and honest in my lyrics; psychologically, politically, sexually, spiritually. 

“A Different Kind of Freedom” is a recent song about being a dad today, reflecting on being a kid in the ‘70s. “Little Dreamer” is about sailing on despite rocks in the water. “Shine” is about trying to let go with grace. “The Woman I Love is Crazy” is about projecting my own craziness onto someone else. “Stay With Me” is about a kid in his twenties who couldn’t be vulnerable enough to say what his heart needed.

I’ve written about my mental suffering, for sure. “Waiting” is about waiting for depression to lift. “Yeah” is about rising from it. “Be Brave Tonight” is about staring it down and not doing something tragic. It's a song to encourage push onwards, to believe, to comfort tragic impulses.

There’s a physical thrill in the flow of zeroing in on the ideal chord progression, and matching the right word or syllable with the right melodic phrase. When the alchemy creates something that didn't exist, it’s invigorating. It’s bliss. It feels like magic. The same high I feel when fine tuning a scene in a documentary, or chiseling a paragraph in a novel. 

I’ve just finished my third novel: My Last Friends on Earth. Might be my last novel on Earth. Who knows? It was hard to finish. What kept me going? Not an advance. An eagerly awaiting fan base? Hardly.

The kids in the story. That's what.

I came to adore them. They believe in friendship, positivity, courage, and honesty. Their resilience inspired me to be resilient enough to finish. I could hear them: "Shut up and rewrite!" I'm not kidding. How fortunate is that?

What else am I looking for in the journey? Something—when I sing it or read it—I believe in. Hope. Redemption. Love. Desire. Sadness. Connection. That's not about talent. We can all do that for ourselves. A word, a line, a melody that hints at who we are or who we could be; a bridge that reminds us we are walking this journey together, across a river that we know flows so far away, the bridge becomes, at best, a footnote—if we're lucky. But we're still lucky to have crossed it. 

Is it enough to write, if nobody hears or reads the result? Sometimes it has to be. You can't pay someone to love you, though paying for promotion has proved effective from time to time.

Sometimes the bridge we cross leads to a bigger bridge. Strangers have told me Understanding Ken is their favourite novel; Facing Ali their favourite documentary; The Woman I Love Is Crazy their favourite song. When it happens? It’s shocking. Also thrilling. 

Too much praise might make an artist lose her mind; too little probably does the same. In the end, you accept either, or both, and carry on, word by word, dream by dream.

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Press play and may you find a bridge, a wave, or even that eternal spark in yourself. I was going for that.

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Check my youtube channel to see videos for a few of these songs.