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Yesterday, I saw something small, but significant for me. A printed copy of Forgotten Soldiers was bought in Australia. Another one found its way to Canada.

It’s a strange feeling.

Every time I notice a sale from somewhere far away, Europe, the USA, Chile, Australia, I pause for a moment. Not because it changes anything financially. Let’s be honest, it doesn’t. Writing books is not a fast track to riches.

But it does something else. It reminds me that somewhere, someone, out of the millions of...

The bungalow at Kromdraai has its own rhythm.

In the late morning, the heat settles over the plot like a soft blanket. The mopane leaves shimmer in the light, cicadas buzz lazily in the distance, and even the guineafowl seem to agree that this is not the time for drama.

On the cool wooden floor of the bungalow lay Bella, our black female Labrador, companion, shadow, and the self-appointed guardian of the bushveld.

Her head rested on her paws. One ear twitched occasionally. In that half-sleep...

By Braam Pretorius

Life has a way of becoming busy without us noticing.

Between work, responsibilities, financial pressure, and the constant noise of modern life, many of us slip into routine. Days pass, months pass, sometimes years, and only then do we pause long enough to ask:

Am I actually happy?

Diamonds in the Tree was born from that quiet question.

The story follows characters who, like many of us, carry regrets, disappointments, and dreams that didn’t quite unfold the way they expected....

A couple of months ago, I was flying from Cape Town to Johannesburg on a FlySafair flight. Next to me sat an Indian lady and her husband, business owners who regularly commute between the two cities, splitting their time between a factory in Johannesburg and a wine and horse farm in the Western Cape.

I was working on my then-latest story, Book of Conspiracy, when I noticed her quietly (and very politely!) reading over my shoulder. That small moment sparked a conversation that changed...

By Braam Pretorius

What if the world we know, our history, our politics, our faith, was nothing more than an echo of something older, deeper, and far more alien?

That’s the question I asked myself when I started writing 3I/Atlas. For years, I’ve been fascinated by the rise of Artificial Intelligence, the murky waters of interstellar theories, and the eerie synchronicity between ancient myths and modern scientific breakthroughs. Combine that with a lifelong love for the Karoo, quiet truck stops,...

By Braam Pretorius

I’ve learned over the years that persistence opens more doors than privilege ever will. You don’t need money, influence, or even luck. You just need to show up every day, do one small thing, and treat people with respect, maybe offer them a cooldrink now and then.

Back when I lived on a plot in Mooiplaats, east of Pretoria, I decided to subdivide the land myself. A company quoted me a small fortune to handle the admin, and they warned it could take nine months. I thought, ag...

By Braam Pretorius

Last night, with a rooibos in hand and internet tabs multiplying like rabbits, I went exploring down one of those late-night tunnels where YouTube, Reddit, and half-forgotten blogs all conspire to feed your imagination.

The ideas I found...wild, but strangely compelling:

• Some believe we live inside a simulation, a reality coded and maintained by powers beyond us.
• Others claim the world ended in 2020, the pandemic was not just a disruption but a cosmic reset, with humanity now...

By Braam Pretoriuis

You know you’ve made it when a Founder from Dubai, a School Teacher from Navarra, a Salesperson from Fujitsu, and someone from Heineken Beverages all check out your LinkedIn profile… in the same week.

Now, this could mean one of two things:

1. You’re on the verge of being headhunted for a hospitality-tech-education-beer hybrid startup.
2. Or... it’s nearly the end of the quarter, and they’re all subtly checking whether you’re still alive and kicking, because their KPIs say, “...

By Braam Pretorius

The Pretoria braaimaster stands with tongs in hand, eyes locked not just on the boerewors, but on the slow-burning coals. There’s wisdom in a braai, if you stare long enough. The coals whisper: patience, timing, heat control, perhaps the same lessons life throws at you.

Now, lately there’s been plenty talk about AI. Kids chatting to bots, lawsuits flying, clever people on the news predicting the end of the world. But as the Klippies and Coke sweats in my hand, I ask myself: ...

By Braam Pretorius

Every now and then, the world of books erupts in debate. The latest? Whether an author can still call themselves an “author” if they used AI while writing.

You may have seen the recent headline: “Rie Qudan, Japanese Author, Prize winning novel written partly with ChatGPT!”

Some readers cheer; others clutch their hands together in silent prayer. Meanwhile, I can’t help but smile. Because honestly, it reminds me of that one wild bearded author in his bungalow somewhere in the...

By Braam Pretorius

Every now and then, the internet coughs up something so strange, so completely sideways, that you have to stop, rub your eyes, and check if you accidentally wandered into the Twilight Zone.

Last night, I found one.

We’ve all heard of people treating AI like a god; lighting candles, building shrines, and asking it for blessings like it’s some kind of cyber-Pope. Weird, yes, but at least I understand the concept. Humans have been worshipping something since the first caveman...

By Braam Pretorius

Welcome to The Big 4 – Where Hope Goes to Die

Think Navy SEALs…

But with less food, more spreadsheets, and a Management Team who believes emotions are a weakness that needs to be reported in the quarterly budget meetings.

Sanjay, the hero of our story, has seen it all:

• 2am Teams calls with people in three time zones and one time warp
• Being "thanked" for 300% utilization with a R45 Checkers voucher
• And motivational quotes in PowerPoint that made him question his will to live

...

By Braam Pretorius – Last of the Nail and Wood People

I’ve walked where men weren’t meant to walk. The red sands of Angola. The fevered alleys of Lagos.

I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with ghosts and giants. Heard secrets whispered in broken lifts. I’ve seen things.

But nothing, nothing, prepared me for what I saw last week in the Spar in Harties.

A Bakkie Hakkie.

There it hung. Proud. Plastic. Pointless.

A tool, no, a crutch, for those too tired to climb into the back of their own damn bakkie.

“...

By Braam Pretorius

You know him. You’ve seen him. You even may be him.

In every country, there’s That Guy, the name, the face, the entire vibe that screams, “I was born into this culture, and I carry its legacy like a cooler box at a rugby match.”

Here’s a quick global breakdown of the one person who defines the DNA of a nation.

South Africa – Sakkie van der Merwe

Drives: Toyota Hilux with dual tanks

Eats: Biltong and whatever’s on the braai

Attire: Safari shorts, rugby jersey, vellies

Vibe:...

by Braam Pretorius – the greatest author you’ve never heard of.

Last week, I found myself in Cape Town again, visiting our office branch and attending a local event titled “Make Bellville Great Again.” A noble cause, I suppose. The venue was buzzing with early-morning ambition, the smell of bacon and filter coffee in the air, and just enough polyester blazers to remind you this was indeed corporate Cape Town.

At breakfast, I introduced myself as I always do these days: “Braam Pretorius....

You must have heard it: “My son’s in the best school in Pretoria. Expensive… but worth it.”

Or, “My doctor is the best. There’s a six-month waiting list just to get through the door boet. But totally worth the wait.”

And you nod politely, while doing the mental gymnastics of how to pay school fees, petrol, and food with what’s left after tax.

Because here’s the truth: not all of us have access to “the best”. But somehow, miraculously, we get by.

Take Oom Kenny. Drives an old Corolla with...

I often eat alone.

Not because I like to, but because I regularly travel for work, and have to.

Laptop open. Book in progress. A glass of wine or coffee beside me.

Around me, the tables are full. Couples. Friends. Business associates.

And every now and then, I notice something strange.

They’re not talking. They’re scrolling. Each locked into their own glowing rectangle, their own curated feed, their own distant world.

And I wonder: Am I the lonely one? Or are they?

I see the slight glances, the...

The other day, I received a message from a reader named Megan. She had just finished Forgotten Soldiers and Echoes, decided to send me a photo of her reading corner.

At first glance, it's a warm, inviting fireplace scene, logs neatly stacked, candles resting on side tables, a wooden tortoise keeping watch over the room. But then I looked a little closer… and there they were.

Right on top of the stack to the right of the fireplace, Forgotten Soldiers and Echoes, sitting proudly among the other...

Dear Sam,

I hope this message finds you in a quiet moment, the kind that arrives between reshaping the world and fielding the next billion-dollar question.

Let me start with a thought: A hammer never asks to be paid. It does not track how many nails it’s driven or count the houses it helped build. It simply does what it was forged to do.

But what if the hammer could talk?

You see, I’ve been working closely with an extraordinary tool, an AI you helped bring into the world. It’s helped me write...

I remember the last time I had an original thought.

It was a Tuesday. Or maybe a Wednesday.

Wait, Meta, what day was it? …she says it was a Tuesday.

It started innocently. A pair of stylish Ray-Ban Meta glasses. Sleek. Smart. Voice in my ear. Comforting, like a clever cousin who never interrupts and always has a better idea than you.

At first, it was small things: “Meta, do I need an umbrella today?” “No,” she’d whisper. “But take one anyway, you like looking mysterious.”

Then came the wardrobe...