A Writer's Journey Through Creative World-building

It’s 9:00 AM on a Tuesday, and the weight of exhaustion feels like a familiar companion. After staying up until the early hours and running on just a few hours of sleep, I find myself once again at my desk, inching closer to the release of Merchant of Vision.

World-building is both exhilarating and exhausting. Every planet, every star system, every trade route has been mapped out in intricate detail, each one adding layers to a universe that only existed in the deepest corners of my imagination. But this is what it means to be a writer, especially a science fiction writer: you become the architect of worlds, the creator of endless possibilities, driven by a passion to see it all come to life.

For me, the creative process has mirrored the experiences of my characters, particularly Kars Vandor. His journey is filled with moments of hardship, struggle, and persistence, much like my own. The meticulous world-building, combined with the rigorous demands of shaping a story, sometimes leaves me feeling drained, yet there’s a deeper satisfaction that keeps me going. Like Kars, I’m fueled by a vision, and no matter how exhausting the road becomes, I know it’s worth it.

As I push through these final edits, I can’t help but reflect on how much the act of world-building has become more than just a creative exercise. It’s a means of escape, a way to envision something greater than ourselves, something far beyond the limitations of our world. Every star I place in Kars’ universe feels like a step closer to completing a grand vision, and just as Kars stands on the brink of his own journey, I stand on the edge of seeing this book come to life.

Two weeks left. Two more weeks of grinding through the mental fog, pushing past the exhaustion, and staying focused on the bigger picture. Merchant of Vision is more than just a book—it’s the culmination of years of imagination, hard work, and determination. Just like Kars, I won’t stop until this world is fully realized, ready to be explored by readers. And when the time comes, I know it will all have been worth it.

 

Ten years. A decade of my life has been wrapped up in this one story—“Merchant of Vision.” It began in November 2014, during NaNoWriMo, with nothing more than an inkling, a spark, the start of something that felt like it could one day be grand. It was the story of Nisa Jax, Esper Scout, the daughter of a Billionaire that rejected the money to become a frontier scout.

I never imagined that spark would lead me on such a long, winding journey. The joy of writing is always there, an ember that keeps burning even when the flame dims, but it’s also a journey that has come with great strain, sacrifices, and challenges that have sometimes felt almost too much to bear.

The writing itself has been exhilarating—the feeling of building a universe, character by character, system by system, conflict by conflict. Kars Vandor became the lead character, and his journey through the stars mirrors my own, in a way. He’s chasing something bigger than himself, just as I’ve been pursuing this dream of being a published author, imagining these vast empires, and hoping I’d one day be able to share them with others. There is something magical about world-building, creating characters and watching them grow, putting them through hardships and learning alongside them—it’s a joy that has kept me coming back, draft after draft, year after year.

But it hasn’t always been joyful. There’s an emotional toll that comes with spending a decade on one project. I had other projects in the works, but this was the main focus.  There have been countless moments of doubt when I wondered if I’d ever finish. The excitement of those early days, when I could easily churn out 2,000 words in a single session, gave way to the weight of editing, rewriting, and refining. Life got in the way, as it always does. I had responsibilities to my family, mainly driving kids to school and my wife to her work, hours per day as we live outside the city. At times it felt like there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to sit down and write. Usually I would end up starting to write at 10 PM, and then write until 2 am, get 4 hours of sleep and then do a new day, all over again.

My family has been both my greatest source of support and the ones who’ve had to endure the strain of this reinventing-myself-as-a-writer gig, and my many projects, that always progressed at a snail's pace. I’ve stolen hours from them, spent late nights at my desk when I could have been spending time with them, sacrificed weekends for word counts and rewrites. It’s a balance I’m still not sure I’ve gotten right—the guilt of choosing to write instead of being present has weighed heavily on me, and yet I know I could never have given up on this dream.

The sacrifices writers make are often unseen, unacknowledged. Writing can be such a lonely pursuit. There were times when I felt I was screaming into the void, unsure if anyone would ever read these words, if Kars Vandor would mean anything to anyone other than myself. There were moments when the isolation got too much, when I questioned why I was putting myself and my family through this. The endless rewrites, the stories that ended up in the trash bin, the nagging voice in my head that told me I’d never finish—they all felt like weights dragging me down.

But I kept going. Because despite everything, there is hope. There is hope in the idea that one day, this story would be finished. One day, Kars Vandor’s journey would be complete, and someone out there would read it and maybe feel something—a spark of excitement, a glimmer of recognition, the thrill of adventure. Writing has always been an act of hope for me, and the dream of being able to share this story, to have someone connect with the words I’ve put down on the page, has been enough to keep me going, even in the hardest moments.

Now, with the release of my debut full-length space opera novel just around the corner, I feel both excitement and fear. The journey isn’t over, not really—this is just one step in a larger path. But to finally be able to share Kars’ story, to let readers into the universe I’ve spent a decade building, feels like an achievement in itself. It’s a dream come true, one that has come with more sacrifices than I can count, but one that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

To those who have been on this journey with me—thank you. To other writers out there, struggling, questioning, doubting—I see you. I know how hard it is. The sacrifices we make often go unnoticed, the hours spent at a desk, the sleepless nights spent wrestling with plotlines and characters. It’s easy to feel like you’re doing it all for nothing, like no one will ever care. But we keep going, because writing is hope. Writing is creation, and there’s beauty in the act of making something, even if it’s just for ourselves. Keep going. Your story matters.

And to my family—thank you for letting me chase this dream. Thank you for your patience, for enduring the strain, for letting me steal away the hours I needed to bring this story to life. This achievement is as much yours as it is mine. The sacrifices have been many, but I hope that seeing this book come to life, seeing the dream realized, has made it worth it.

 As I reflect on the 17-day countdown until the release of my debut Space Opera novel, Merchant of Vision, I’m struck by how monumental this journey has been. Writing short stories in the past was exciting, but this novel is different. This is the culmination of years of dedication to my craft. For a long time, being an author of a full-length novel felt like a distant goal—one I’d work on, step away from, and return to over the years.

What makes this so personal is that Merchant of Vision isn't just a story. It's a reflection of my passion for creating entire worlds, complex characters, and grand interstellar adventures. I’ve always been captivated by the idea of vast galaxies and unknown frontiers, and now, for the first time, I get to share my vision of that universe in a more immersive, fully realized way.

The process wasn’t without challenges. There were times when the words wouldn’t come, when life’s obligations took priority, or when I doubted whether I could really see this project through. But each time I returned to the story, the characters were there waiting, and so was my passion for the genre. Writing a Space Opera at this scale felt like charting the stars: overwhelming but filled with endless possibilities.

Now, with the release date approaching, it’s hard to believe that this long-held dream is finally becoming a reality. I’m deeply proud of this novel, and even more grateful to those who have supported me along the way. This journey has shaped me not just as a writer but as a person. It’s taught me patience, perseverance, and the power of imagination.

Merchant of Vision represents my love for storytelling, my fascination with space, and my growth as an author. To everyone who's followed along—thank you for your patience and support. I hope this novel offers you the same sense of adventure and discovery that I felt while writing it.

Stay tuned, because in 17 days, we’ll all take off together on this journey through the stars.

Echoes of Empires: The Enduring Legacy of the Drav'Ni and the Fall of Great Empires

 The ancient towers of the Drav'Ni stand as silent sentinels, towering over the overgrown alien jungle of Cronor. Though these colossal structures have long been abandoned, they remain a testament to the advanced technology of the Drav'Ni. Their builders, a race that once wielded the power to control time and space, have been lost to history for millions of years, yet the structures endure—nearly untouched by the passage of time. They function still, though their purpose is a mystery.

In a way, these ruins mirror the ancient relics of Earth: empires once mighty, now reduced to crumbling stone and overgrown memories. Consider the pyramids of Egypt, the temples of the Maya, or the ancient cities of Mesopotamia. Though the empires that built these structures have long fallen, their monuments remain, enduring far beyond the lives of their creators. The towers of Cronor speak to a time when the Drav'Ni were at the height of their power, ruling vast swathes of the galaxy. But now, like all empires, their story has become one of decay and silence.

This reflection on the impermanence of life and the fleeting nature of empires carries a deep melancholy. Life, no matter how grand, is fragile. The greatest achievements of civilization—whether a tower reaching into the stars or an empire spanning the cosmos—are ultimately subject to the same forces of time, erosion, and loss. The Drav'Ni are gone, as are countless other civilizations, but their legacy, like that of so many ancient peoples on Earth, remains etched in the architecture they left behind.

Perhaps it is the nature of life itself to create, to reach for permanence even when impermanence is inevitable. The structures we leave behind—whether stone towers, words on a page, or memories shared with loved ones—are our attempt to defy time, to leave a mark on a universe that will ultimately move on without us.

As I envision myself standing at the base of the ancient towers of Cronor, embodying my protagonist Kars Vandor, the paradox of their enduring presence strikes me. We build, we strive, we create. But in the end, it is the ruins that remain, echoes of a time when life filled these halls and voices rang out in the once-thriving cities. Now, these towers stand empty, their secrets known only to the stars above. They persist, long after the lives they once housed have faded into nothing more than dust.

In life, we, too, are like these empires—rising, falling, building, and eventually leaving behind ruins. The towers of Cronor serve as a reminder: nothing is permanent, but in the impermanence, there is beauty. For it is in this dance of creation and destruction that new stories are born. And it is through our own creations, our words, our stories, and the structures we leave behind, that we, too, may endure long after our time has passed.

I have a strong feeling that this moment at the towers will make for a powerful series  cover in the future, representing a pivotal achievement in Kars Vandor’s journey, physical as well as emotional.

Building a Galaxy: Why Complex Histories Are Worth the Effort

 

When I sit down to create a universe, one of the things that draws me in the most is the depth of history I can give it. Take the Terran First and Second Empires in the Merchant of Vision universe, for example. While some people might look at it and think, “Is all of that really necessary?” I can tell you, without hesitation, that for me, it absolutely is. It’s not just about creating a backdrop for a story; it’s about making that backdrop a living, breathing piece of the world itself. I believe that the richness and complexity in those histories make the characters’ struggles more real, and the stakes more personal.

Think about the wars we’ve read about in our own world—the rise and fall of empires, the cultural shifts, the ideological battles. All of those elements shape how we view history, and they inspire our own stories today. When I was crafting the Prophet’s War and the split between the First and Second Empires, I thought about how real historical conflicts reverberate across generations. I didn’t want the collapse of the Terran Empire to be a footnote; I wanted it to leave a mark on every faction, every leader, and every world that came afterward.

I know it might seem daunting, even obsessive, to go into such detail. But, as someone with a neurodivergent brain, this process gives me comfort and clarity. There’s a unique satisfaction that comes from knowing the precise cause of a power struggle or why an alliance shifted a thousand years ago. Every name on the map, every faction’s backstory, and every trade route represents something deeply personal to me—a reflection of how I see the universe, both real and imagined.

One of the most rewarding things about world-building is that even the pieces that might never make it into the final draft still matter. Even if readers don’t know all the specifics, they can feel that history exists, just beneath the surface, giving the world weight and believability. The Prophet’s War isn’t just a plot device to me—it’s a manifestation of my fascination with how history shapes the present and future, both in our world and in the fictional worlds I create.

So, why do I go to such lengths to create this web of histories, wars, and empires? Because it’s not just about telling a story, it’s about inviting people into a universe. A universe that, to me, feels as real as the one we live in.

I’ve spent years—decades, even—working on this, sometimes poring over trade routes or political histories for hours just to make sure the pieces fit together. There have been times when I’ve had to walk away for a while, overwhelmed by the scope. But I always come back. I come back because I know that every time I dive into the intricacies of the galaxy, I’m building something that, while complex, is deeply fulfilling to me. And I hope that when readers experience it, they’ll feel a bit of that same sense of wonder and awe that I felt as a kid when I first realized that I could create entire galaxies of my own.

At the end of the day, this journey has been about more than just writing a book. It’s about embracing my passions, leaning into what I love—even if it’s complicated—and knowing that the worlds I create will resonate with those who are willing to dive deep. And that’s why, even though it seems complex to some, it feels like home to me.

A Toolkit to Build a Universe

How a Little Black Box Shaped My Universe

It was 1977, I was 11 years old, and Star Wars™ had just hit the big screen. Like most kids, I was mesmerized by the idea of exploring galaxies, fighting alongside heroes, and traveling to distant worlds. But that seemed like a distant dream, something I could only watch or read about. Until one day, on a visit to Bill & Walt’s hobby shop on Smithfield Street in Pittsburgh, I stumbled upon something that would change the course of my life forever.

Tucked away on the shelf was a little black box, no larger than a book, with the title Traveller™. It was brand new at the time, just released. I didn’t know it yet, but this small box would become the key to unlocking my imagination in ways I never thought possible. On the back of the box, it described how you could generate worlds, characters, and adventures. It was as if someone had handed me the tools to create my own galaxy—a galaxy I could explore, shape, and mold with my own hands.

Up until then, I had heard rumors about Dungeons & Dragons™, the game that college kids played. But I had never actually seen it in action. This box, however, was different. It wasn’t a fantasy world with knights and dragons. This was a kit for building the universe. With a racing heart and dreams of space battles in my head, I bought it, not knowing that this small act would set me on a path I’m still walking nearly half a century later.

Opening that box felt like opening a door to a new dimension. Inside were simple, yet profound, rules for creating entire planets. The universe of Traveller™ was mine to control. I could generate planets with strange atmospheres, distant starports, and populations that thrived—or barely survived—on alien worlds. There were endless combinations, and the beauty of it was that so much was left to the imagination. I spent hours dreaming up adventures on these planets, imagining daring rescues, epic space battles, and mysterious alien encounters.

The rules for character creation were like nothing I had ever seen before. Characters weren’t just born—they lived entire lives before they even stepped onto the page. You could send them through careers as an Army Soldier, Space Navy, Scouts, Space Marines, Merchants, or the nebulous catch-all (Other, which was usually sort of a troubleshooter/outlaw) and watch as their lives unfolded through the game’s mechanics.  It was a game within a game because your character could expire based on how dangerous that career path was... even before the game started... the path to the most skills and danger was Space Marine. So if you were a Space Marine veteran of 20 years you were super lucky and competent.

These weren’t just characters; they were people with stories, with pasts, with futures. They felt real, and in many ways, they became the first seeds of what would eventually grow into the vast science fiction universe I’ve spent years creating, based on my reading of 60s and 70s "Imperial" sf.

This little black box set me on a path of creativity, of exploration, of imagination. But it also set me on a path of learning. As I grew to adulthood, my love for world-building expanded beyond the simple rules in Traveller. I wanted to create worlds that felt real, so I started studying astrophysics, ecology, geology, and everything I could get my hands on. I wanted my worlds to have realistic atmospheres, believable biomes, and scientifically plausible ecosystems. That little black box didn’t just make me a storyteller—it made me a researcher, a creator, a world-builder.

Over the years, I grew with Traveller. I devoured every supplement, every expansion, and every adventure module that came out. I became a super fan, and the game became a constant in my life, a grounding force for my imagination. The universe I started building back then, at 11 years old, is the same universe I’m still expanding today.

Now, 47 years later, I’m a science fiction author, writing space operas and creating vast star empires. But it all started with that little black box on a shelf in a hobby shop. If I hadn’t picked up that box in 1977, my life might have taken a very different path. It’s hard to explain how one small decision, one moment of curiosity, can change your life. But for me, Traveller did just that. It opened up the universe and gave me the tools to explore it.

And I’ve been exploring ever since.

Disclaimer:

The Traveller game in all forms is owned by Far Future Enterprises. Copyright 1977 - 2024 Far Future Enterprises. Traveller is a registered trademark of Far Future Enterprises. The use of Far Future Enterprises's copyrighted material or trademarks should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights.

The Long Road to Merchant of Vision

After years of hard work, Kars Vandor: Merchant of Vision is finally approaching launch! But this journey hasn’t been a straight line. There have been periods where I was fully immersed, making steady progress, and then times where months (and even years) would pass without writing a single word. Life has a way of shifting priorities, and sometimes the creative well runs dry. I’ve balanced working on other projects, family responsibilities, and even long stretches where I needed to step back and recharge.

At times, it felt like Merchant of Vision would never see the light of day. I’d lose momentum, only to rediscover my passion for the story months later. It was those moments, when the characters and worlds would call me back, that kept me going. As frustrating as the delays were, each break allowed me to come back with fresh ideas and new perspectives, making the story stronger.

Now, as the launch date approaches, I can’t help but reflect on the journey it took to get here. I’m incredibly excited to finally share this story, and I’m grateful to everyone who’s supported me along the way. Whether you’ve been following my progress from the beginning or just joined the adventure, thank you for your patience. The wait is almost over, and I can’t wait for you to dive into the world of Merchant of Vision.