Turning the Page: Why I’m Shifting from Journalism / Political Writing to Fiction
And no longer accepting interviews with major media...
We’ve all found ourselves suddenly thrust into a strange new world—one that feels more dangerous and uncertain than even the turmoil of the pandemic years.
Like many of you, I’ve spent the past few months doing some deep soul-searching. After much reflection, I’ve made a pivotal decision: I’m stepping back from nonfiction journalism and public political commentary to focus entirely on my book writing.
This choice wasn’t easy, but it feels necessary. Personal safety concerns have made it clear that continuing in my current capacity is no longer safe nor sustainable. At the same time, I believe I can make a more meaningful impact through storytelling. Fiction allows me to tackle the urgent themes I’ve addressed in my journalism—but in a way that better protects my family and me in these uncertain times. It helps readers to relate to an issue in a way that gets around social preconceptions and taboos.
I’ve also had to confront the harsh reality that journalism, both local and national, has been defanged, gutted, and compromised. Making a sustainable living as a journalist has become nearly impossible, and the avenues for creating meaningful change through nonfiction are rapidly narrowing.
But storytelling still has an almost magical power. Fiction allows us to explore truth in a way that lingers, resonates, and sparks change in ways nonfiction often cannot. It’s a slow burn, yes, but one that can ignite something profound in readers' hearts and minds.
This pivot isn’t about giving up—it’s about survival and evolving, embracing what I’ve always envisioned as my endgame. My upcoming novel, They Knew, is my way of channeling the chaos of our times into a story that matters. It’s a deeply personal project, one that I believe has the power to inspire hope, resistance, and meaningful dialogue.
For now, my focus is on writing, raising my teenage daughters, and building a legacy through fiction. While I’ve had to decline recent major public speaking and media engagements, I’m not disappearing—I’m simply choosing a different path forward. Moving ahead, I will only consider interviews that focus on my fiction writing and the transformative power of storytelling. I will be communicating to the world specifically and intentionally through my fiction writing.
Your support means everything to me as I navigate this new chapter. I’ll continue sharing updates, works-in-progress, and my thoughts on our brave new world here on Substack and Bluesky. To give you a sneak peek, I’m including the first three scenes of They Knew, my dystopian sci-fi speculative fiction novel that explores resilience, hope, and the power of individual action in a crumbling world.
Thank you for walking this path with me. I hope the best is yet to come.
~ JVT
P.S. Perhaps things will change. Perhaps more people will find the courage to stand up and fight for what’s right and all we’re losing so quickly. If that happens, and I can return to my work with the community and the support it needs, I’ll gladly step back into the fight.
Here is a preview of what I have been working on. Let me know what you think of it so far:
They Knew
By Jason Van Tatenhove
1.
The coffee maker sputtered its last gasp, filling the apartment with the bitter smell of burnt grounds. Raven Marlowe didn’t move. She stayed hunched in her rolling desk chair, chin on her knee, staring through the bay window at the trembling aspen tree outside. Golden leaves danced in the sunlight, oblivious to the fact that her world was crumbling.
Her jaw clenched again, bringing back that familiar overused muscle pain. She rubbed the sides of her jaw, trying to relax the knots on either side. Today should have been overcast—dark, ominous, the kind of day that fit the decision she had to make. The air should have been thick with mist, not the crisp chill of autumn, and the sky should have mirrored the knot twisting in her gut. But no, nature had decided to rub it in. She absentmindedly started to trace the doodled lines of computer code that spiraled across the top of the desk she sat in front of—she always seemed to draw these lines of "doodle-code" as she playfully referred to the drawings she compulsively made when lost in her head.
Today, Raven would walk into the lab she loved, look her professor in the eye, and tell him she was giving up.
Her gaze drifted back to the window. The sunlight reflected off the leaves in brilliant, golden streaks, like a painter’s brushstrokes defying the somber truth of the moment. Today, she had to walk into the place she loved, the university she’d called home since she was sixteen, and tell her professor—the man who had been her mentor and advocate for years—that she was dropping out.
She pressed her hands flat against the desk, grounding herself. She couldn’t think about what came after, couldn’t let the weight of it crush her before she even began.
The man who had welcomed her into the program when she was just a teenager, who had come to her house when her mother died to sit with her grieving father, would understand. He had to.
But the idea of walking into that lab, into the world of algorithms and breakthroughs she had poured herself into, and tearing herself away from it forever… felt like a death of its own.
The coffee maker sputtered again, releasing its last stream of rich, dark liquid into the pot. Raven walked into the kitchen and poured herself a mug, cradling it between her hands. She softly breathed in the beloved aroma and savored the feelings and memories of better mornings it brought with it. The mug’s warmth seeped into her palms, but it couldn’t touch the chill in her chest.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the steam curling from the cup. Today wasn’t just about her dreams—it was about the man behind that bedroom door who had given everything to and then sacrificed everything for her. Returning the favor was the least she could do, but that sense of duty didn’t make the reality any easier. She had to wake her father—once a giant of strength and brilliance in her eyes—and clean that stinking, repulsive, most personal of messes his illness left smeared and burning across his lower half. No one else would help.
Her father had given up everything for her—a career, a future, a place among the greats. And now, it was her turn to give up everything for him.
A knock rattled the front door, startling her. Visitors were rare these days. Setting her coffee down, she opened the door cautiously.
Standing there was Caleb Winslow, his sandy blond hair tousled by the breeze, his glasses slipping down his nose. He balanced a laptop bag over one shoulder and held a coffee cup in his hand. “Hey,” he said, his easy smile faltering when he saw her face. “Bad time?”
Raven blinked, caught between the pull of her heavy thoughts and the surprise of seeing him. “Caleb? Yeah, it actually kind of is. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, his smile returning. “Thought I’d check in.” He held up the coffee cup, the logo of a local café scrawled across the side. “Bribery. Figured you might need it.”
She almost laughed but stopped herself. “You don’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” He paused, his gaze flicking toward the closed door at the end of the hall. His smile softened as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. “How’s your dad?”
Her throat tightened. “Not great…I need to handle things before I head to the lab. But listen, I do need to talk to you later. Will you be around?”
Caleb’s grin returned with a hint of his usual drama club flair. “For you? Always.” He swept his hand theatrically. “Whatever you need.”
His grin was disarming, and for a moment, it worked. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she imagined a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone, where she could let him in—not just through the door, but into her life.
It was a dangerous thought, letting him in. A risk she couldn’t afford to take now.
Her father’s groan shattered the fragile moment, dragging her back. It cut through the air like a jagged blade, sharp and raw, pulling her into the dark reality waiting down the hall. The melody of her childhood had twisted into something unrecognizable—raw, guttural, filled with pain.
Raven’s smile vanished, her shoulders stiffening, jaw tightening against the wave of emotion threatening to surface. The sour scent of sickness and the faint hum of machines seemed heavier now, closing in around her.
“I have to go,” she said, her voice steeling itself for what lay ahead.
Without waiting for his reply, she closed the door, bracing herself for the task ahead. Her father had given up everything for her—his dreams, health, and future. It was her turn to sacrifice, and she would do it for the same reason: love.
2.
Raven walked quickly, her head down, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled tight against the biting wind. Each step felt heavier, as if the weight of her decision had sunk into her bones. She couldn’t let herself cry—not yet. Not until she’d faced Dr. Vance.
The campus was quieter than usual. Too quiet. Raven’s gut tightened as she approached the lab building. A few men loitered near the doors, dressed in nondescript navy blue windbreakers, polos, baseball caps, and sunglasses, hiding their eyes despite the overcast sky. She didn’t recognize them, but their presence felt wrong. Calculated. Watching. She knew immediately that they were agents, one of the new clandestine forces set up by President Trask.
She glanced at the agents stationed outside the lab, their bland uniforms and blank expressions starkly contrasting the frantic energy inside. The message was clear: stay quiet. Don’t speak out or cause trouble—Or you’re next.
Her breath caught as she swiped her fob at the lab door. The usual hum of the building, a mix of murmured conversations and faint mechanical whirs, was replaced by hurried movements and whispered tension. Students clustered in small groups, exchanging anxious glances. Two more men stood against the walls of the main corridor, arms crossed, their gaze sweeping the room.
Raven swallowed hard and pulled out her earbuds, not to listen to music but to activate the hearing aid function. She dialed up the sensitivity on her phone, letting the faint whispers around her filter through.
“...shutting everything down…”
“...taking everyone’s notes, all the files…”
“…didn’t even warn the department. They just showed up…”
Her heart pounded. This wasn’t just some routine inspection.
She kept her hood low as she walked through the lab, avoiding eye contact with the strangers. Her fellow students were rushing about, gathering papers and notebooks, their faces pale. The tension in the room was suffocating.
Dr. Vance spotted her from his office—a glass enclosure at the back of the lab—and motioned urgently. His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a sharp, almost frantic energy.
“Raven,” he said as she stepped inside. He locked the door behind her and pulled the blinds down over the glass walls. His hands were trembling. “Thank God you’re here. We need to talk.”
“Doc, wait,” she said, her voice cracking. “I have something to tell you first.”
His brow furrowed, but she pushed ahead, her words spilling out. “I have to leave. I’m dropping out. Dad—he’s…he needs me full-time. His insurance…they won’t cover his treatment anymore. I’m so sorry. I—I know I am letting you down, but I can’t do this anymore. I have to take care of him.”
Vance’s expression softened, but only for a moment. He reached for her shoulder, squeezing it briefly. “I understand. Your father needs you. But, Raven, listen to me. This might actually be a blessing in disguise.”
She blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
Vance leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re shutting down the program. Everything. They’re afraid of what Phoebe could become, what she could accomplish. They’re seizing the lab, taking the servers, the notes, the research—all of it. And anyone involved? They’re… let’s just say they’re under scrutiny. You leaving now might keep you off their radar. I’ll make your paperwork look like you’ve been off the program a little longer.”
Raven’s stomach sank. “Shutting it down? Why?”
“Because they’re afraid. Afraid Phoebe might actually work. Might disrupt the systems they’ve spent decades—generations building.” His voice cracked with something between anger and despair. “I’ve done what I can. The base code—it’s safe. But it’s not in the AI cluster anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Raven asked, her voice shaking.
Vance glanced toward the blinds, the tension in his movements sharpening. “I isolated the core code. Took it offline. It’s safe and undetectable in a self-contained, limited system. But this is just the beginning. You’ll have to initialize her, imprint her on you, and find the other updates to her. I’ve hidden them where only you can find them. Each piece has a clue to the next. When she’s whole, she’ll be more powerful than you can imagine—but you’ll need to teach her, Raven. She’s more than code, Raven. She’s someone—and she’ll need you just as much as we all need her.”
He turned toward her bag, casually zipping it closed as he spoke louder, his voice almost theatrical. “Meet me tonight. Seven o’clock. The coffee shop on the Hill. You know the one. I’ll bring the device.”
The sudden shift caught Raven off guard, but before she could question him, the sound of pounding on the office door made them both jump.
“Dr. Vance!” a voice barked. “Open up. Now.”
Vance straightened, his expression hardening. He pulled her up by the shoulder, guiding her toward the door. “You need to leave. Right now,” he hissed.
“But—”
“Go,” he snapped, louder now, clearly for the agents to hear. “I’ve said everything I needed to. I’ll bring it tonight.”
Raven nodded, her breath catching as he unlocked the door. The moment it opened, the agents stormed in, grabbing him roughly. She slipped out behind them in the chaos that followed.
“Dr. Elias Vance, you’re being detained for questioning regarding suspected violations of the Federal Technology and Security Act,” one of the men growled.
Raven didn’t look back. Her heart pounded as she pushed through the crowded lab, ignoring the stares of her classmates. She walked quickly down the hall, past more agents heading toward the lab. As she stepped outside, the cold wind hit her like a slap, snapping her back to reality.
Each step away from the lab felt like another tie that held her life together since her mother’s death snapping apart. The weight in her bag was more than just physical—it carried the echo of Vance’s words, the urgency of his plea. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but the enormity of it pressed against her, unyielding.
She didn’t stop walking, her mind racing.
3.
The crowd gave her a fragile sense of cover, but the tension in her chest didn’t ease. Her mind raced as she glanced over her shoulder, the reality sinking in: if they could seize everything and treat a tenured professor like Dr. Vance as disposable, they could do it to anyone, including her.
She felt more alone than ever. She’d always had her father and the professor—two constants in a turbulent world. But now? The fear of losing both wrapped around her like a vise. Forcing herself to focus, she quickened her pace. Her father needed her. She had to get home, check on him, and prepare for the nurse’s visit she’d begged for the night before.
As Raven reached her apartment door, the weight of the day pressed down on her shoulders. Unlocking it, she stepped inside and was immediately met by the stale, heavy air of the small space. The scent of sickness hung in the room, a sour reminder of her father’s condition. She cracked the window above the sink, letting in the cool autumn breeze, and took a moment to gather herself. The panic from the lab felt like a distant storm now, replaced by the suffocating weight of her responsibilities.
Taking a deep breath, Raven headed to her father’s room. She pushed the door open, the faint hum of medical equipment greeting her like an unwelcome guest. The shades drawn, the room was dark, illuminated only by the muted glow of a monitor. She crossed to the nightstand, flicked on the bedside lamp, and turned to see her father stirring.
“Raven?” Jamie Marlowe’s voice was hoarse but carried a warmth that momentarily cut through the gloom. “How was your day at school, love?”
“It was fine, Dad,” she lied, forcing a smile. “How are you feeling?”
His gaze drifted to the walls, where framed articles and awards for excellence in investigative journalism hung—a testament to the life he’d built and lost. His lips curled into a faint smile as he looked at Raven, his greatest achievement. But the moment faded as quickly as it came, and he sighed deeply.
“Let me get your meds,” Raven said softly, moving to the nightstand. As she sorted through the pill bottles, Jamie’s expression grew distant, his voice tinged with regret. Her hands froze as she counted the pills left in the bottle. This was it—his last dose of the medicine that really mattered. The truth hit her like a blow to the chest, all the pleading, yelling, and tear-choked begging flashing through her mind. None of it mattered. No amount of fighting could change the inevitable. The system had decided her father’s fate, and she was powerless to stop it. It didn’t matter that if they had enough money, this disease could be cured, that even beyond that, they could make his passing so much more comfortable. But they won’t; there just isn’t enough profit to justify it.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his words heavy. “Sorry for the world you’ve inherited. I tried—I really did—but it was too big, too broken. Even when I had a voice, it wasn’t enough. The system was already racing toward the cliff.”
“Dad—” she began, but he held up a hand, his eyes locked on hers.
“They knew, Raven.” His voice wavered but grew sharper. “Since the ‘50s. The oil companies, the governments—they had the data. They saw the chaos coming. They knew exactly what their greed would cost the world.” He gestured weakly toward the room, to the hum of machines barely keeping him alive. “They knew, and they didn’t care. They poured fuel on the fire, choking the planet for profit. And now here we are—paying the price they always knew we’d have to pay.”
Tears welled in Raven’s eyes as she listened. She hated seeing him like this, stripped of the fire and strength that had defined him. “Dad, I know you tried. You gave up everything for me—your career, the house, everything.”
His expression softened. “You were worth it. Every sacrifice. But the fight’s not over, Raven. It’s going to take someone like you—someone smarter, braver, with more at stake than my generation did—to do what we couldn’t.”
Jamie’s smile was bittersweet. “You can’t save me, love. They’ve made sure of that. All I want now is peace—a little dignity, a little comfort. To drift off and find your mother. But even that’s too much for them. They’ve stripped us of everything, even the right to leave this world with grace.”
Raven’s voice broke. “I’m sorry, Dad. I—I don’t know what to do anymore. The system…it’s so broken.”
He reached for her hand, his grip weak but steady. “You’ll figure it out. You have to. And when you do, don’t just fight the system—burn it to the ground.”
A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Jamie shifted, moving the cords and tubes that snaked up his arms aside, wincing at the effort, and patting the bed beside him. “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s take a nap like we used to.”
Raven hesitated, then climbed into bed, wrapping her arm around him. His chest rose and fell beneath her hand, and for a fleeting moment, she was six years old again, safe in his arms as he hummed an off-key lullaby. She clung to that memory, grateful for this one last lucid moment with the real version of her father—the man he had been, not the ghost the disease had left behind.
To be continued…
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