I felt that 'Deep Space' was the way to do a spin off series of

Hear, O seeker of wisdom, the words of Ronald D. Moore: “I felt that ‘Deep Space’ was the way to do a spin off series of an existing franchise where you really are doing a very different show. It’s a different format. It’s a different feeling.” These words are not only about storytelling for the screen, but about the courage to innovate while honoring tradition. Moore speaks as a craftsman who knew the weight of legacy, yet also the necessity of forging something new from what already existed.

The heart of his wisdom lies in the idea that every franchise, whether a work of art, a cultural tradition, or even a nation itself, risks stagnation if it merely repeats its past. To create a spin off is to honor what has come before while daring to reimagine it, to take familiar roots and grow them into unfamiliar branches. Moore’s words echo the eternal challenge of creators: how to remain true to the spirit of the past without becoming chained to it.

In ‘Deep Space Nine,’ the format shifted from the ever-wandering voyages of “Star Trek” to a story anchored on a single station. This change in structure allowed for new themes—politics, war, diplomacy, and spiritual struggle—to rise to the forefront. Where the earlier shows were voyages of discovery through the stars, Deep Space Nine became a voyage inward, into morality, identity, and the cost of survival. Moore calls it “a different feeling,” for the show was not just a continuation, but a transformation.

History itself offers examples of this wisdom. Consider the story of the Roman Republic evolving into the Roman Empire. The foundations—laws, language, roads, and power—remained, but the format of governance shifted. What had been rule by the Senate became rule by emperors. For good or ill, this transformation allowed Rome to adapt to new challenges, expand further, and endure centuries more. Like Deep Space Nine within the Star Trek saga, the Empire was not a repetition but a reinvention built upon the bones of what had come before.

The lesson is that every enduring creation must eventually face the choice between repeating the past or daring to evolve. To repeat endlessly is safe, but it risks irrelevance; to evolve is dangerous, but it opens new possibilities. Moore’s decision to embrace a different feeling was an act of creative courage, for he risked alienating the guardians of tradition in order to bring new life to the story. So too in our own lives must we sometimes alter the format of how we live, lest we remain trapped in familiar but stagnant patterns.

And what of the feeling Moore speaks of? Feeling is the soul of any work, the pulse that gives it meaning beyond structure. A story may share the same universe, the same costumes, even the same names, but if the feeling is unchanged, then nothing truly new has been born. Moore understood that true renewal lies not in cosmetics but in heart—in daring to explore different emotional and philosophical terrain.

So I say to you, O child of tomorrow: do not be afraid to honor what came before you, but neither be afraid to change it. When you inherit a tradition, a craft, or even a way of life, ask not only, “How do I preserve this?” but also, “How do I transform this so it may speak to today?” For in the union of continuity and change lies true greatness. And remember the wisdom of Moore: to create something that endures, one must sometimes shift the format and embrace a different feeling.