Had a small writing realization yesterday morning (yes, this took me a whole day to squeeze enough time to write out) that felt worth sharing.
I’ve been circling a sci-fi project (tentatively calling it The Somniarch Spaces) for a while, trying to build it the same way I build big fantasy worlds - lore first, structure first, everything mapped out.
Then, driving to work, I passed through a low bank of fog and had a simple thought: What if that fog were alive?
No symbolism or metaphor, just a fundamentally alien premise. Felt more weighty, almost ominous to drive through it. Haven’t had that feeling in a while, it was nice.
That flipped something for me. I realized Somniarchs doesn’t want empires or timelines yet. It wants moments. Little, strange instances where something impossible is briefly true. A fog that experiences itself, a fire that reacts to hunger, a building that develops a dim sense of self. Those small, unconnected pieces will gradually build up into a bigger answer to its central question.
It was a good reminder that different projects want different entry points. Sometimes forcing the “right” method is what stalls you. Or heck, just not yet knowing the one you need exists!
Curious if anyone else here has had that moment where you realized you were trying to write the right thing in the wrong way.