During my Monday entry, I expressed some doubt over my current fiction writing capabilities. I’d had a bit of a panic several days prior about how my novel was panning out, not to mention some concerns with a more recent short story I’d penned. Characters pottered through environments like video game characters, whilst narrators would exposit a little too enthusiastically about everything going on in the scene playing out. It all felt a touch too heavy-handed for my liking. It felt like trying to ride a bike after many years, finding it difficult to keep the darn wheels straight.

At the time, I was stressing like a right ol’ drama queen. I contemplated throwing the towel in on the activity, wondering whether a career as a gardener or a cook might be better suited (spoiler: they wouldn’t). As I’ve given myself time to gestate on the matter, I’ve realised there’s perhaps a more logical reason my imaginative writing isn’t as sharp as I’d like it to be; and it’s not just because I’m dabbling in first drafts.

If writing non-fiction work was an upper-body workout, then it could be fair to class fiction writing as a lower-body exercise by comparison. Both may appear similar on the surface, yet at their core, target totally dissimilar areas. In recent times, I’ve been giving myself a rather delightful “upper-body workout”. I’ve spent many weekends and evenings putting together the monthly Spotlight newsletters, penning my reviews for my site, and researching for my retrospective series on Steven Spielberg’s E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. I’ve gotten into quite the habit of devouring facts, figures, and accounts of events from years past, then threading them all together in the form of an article or essay series. The issue is, I’ve been neglecting the “lower body” of fiction writing during this period. Prior to June 2025, I believe the last time I really got those metaphorical glutes pumping  would have been February 2024, when I penned a three-part series for my website. Since then, I’ve barely attempted anything that requires me to really fire up my imagination. Furthermore, I’ve also not been reading quite as many fiction books as I once did, relying instead on history, politics, and autobiographical texts when attempting to park my brain. 

Without having so much as an iota of verified authority on the matter, I suspect there may be a whiff of science behind my struggles. A brief Google search by yours truly suggests that non-fiction writing often fixates on information processing and argumentation. It’s a task that heavily engages the brain’s executive control network, particularly areas in the prefrontal cortex responsible for logical reasoning and problem-solving. It’s a case of collecting data, sifting through said-data, then structuring a logical argument to deliver a series of ideas through a coherent narrative. While there’s an element of storytelling undoubtedly folded into this, it’s more rooted in telling a story through knowledge and documentation.

Fiction, on the other hand, demands a slight neurological gear shift. It’s more concerned with sensory immersion and empathy. Neurologically speaking, this activates the parts of our brain that allow us to step into someone else’s shoes and simulate their thoughts and feelings. It’s all about building up inner and outer worlds that pull its readers in; a process that lights up the same parts of the brain that come to life when we daydream or contemplate  our futures. It ignites imagination through neural simulation, inviting readers to not just empathise, but truly feel the fictional landscapes you’re attempting to share with them.

With this in mind, it’s perhaps little wonder I’m struggling with the jump in recent months. I’m reacclimatising to working out a new set of neurological muscles. All of which has motivated me to put a bit of a plan together to help me out along the way. 

I’ve also come to the realisation that I have not been consuming enough fiction in recent times. So much so, that the other day when I sat down to read a novel I’d recently received as a gift, I found myself having to re-read several pages, largely because I either caught myself daydreaming or struggling to picture the worlds being conveyed in my mind’s eye. For someone who used to devour such works like they were glasses of fruity water, this really was quite the realisation. Some of my brain “muscles” have grown flabby. They need working out on a regular basis in order to get them up to strength again.

Of course, this isn’t simply a mere workout routine. I’m not only engaging in all of this for the sake of becoming a better writer. Only writing will serve as the primary solution to this problem. Discipline and commitment are key. I can read and write short stories as much as I like, but if I’m not tackling the main project, I’ll never master the art of bringing my Synthetic Empires novel to life. This is also about reconnecting with my love of stories. My time away from engaging with my imagination has turned it into a distant stranger, one who I used to love dearly. I want to reconnect with her, especially after all the joy and wonder she has filled me with throughout my life. Sure, reconnecting with my imagination may be a bit awkward and strained to begin with, but with time and effort, I’ll gel with her again. By reconnecting, I won’t just get more comfortable utilising her when putting prose to paper, but perhaps I’ll discover a part of me that I’ve been neglecting for quite some time now.

So, what next? Firstly, I’m going to read more fiction. The attention span troubles I’ve been experiencing? I need to kick that door down. I’ve experienced this issue numerous times in the past, particularly during more busy periods, and have found that plonking myself in a chair with a good paperback and a strong cup of coffee is the quickest solution to that difficulty. I’m gonna treat this as a spot of “physical therapy” for the imagination, one that will quickly turn back into the joyous pastime it has always been for me. 

My next action is to write more short stories alongside my novel work; allowing myself to partake in the “lower-body” mind workouts I require. I need to make fiction my primary motive. My weekly article posts for my personal website are going to become more short-story-focused over the coming months, giving me a means to work on some interim projects alongside my novel. It will also be less of a strain when switching between novel writing and personal website work. I can well and truly immerse myself in the land of conjuring up new worlds. Obviously, I’ll still dabble in reviews and retrospectives from time to time, plus I’ll continue to carve out monthly slots to focus on the Spotlight newsletters. It will just be much less prevalent in my weekly schedules for the foreseeable future. I’ll use these weekly slots to figure out character building, inner-worldbuilding, effectively conveying external landscapes, dialogue execution, tension, pacing, and so forth.

None of this is to serve as a magic bullet, of course. My ongoing work on Synthetic Empires will no doubt continue to frustrate, scare, and baffle me at every opportunity. None of this is intended as a plan to get out of writing it or attempting to conjure up a quick-fix solution to the uncomfortable feelings. They’ll still be there each and every day I contribute more words to that novel. Be that as it may, hopefully it will at least help me become a more experienced and focused writer as I embark on this journey that now has a tendency to consume my every waking thought.