Connecting Across the Stars (and Pages)

Writing is a solitary act. You sit at a desk, stare at a screen or a notebook, and try to make something real out of nothing. Most days, it’s just you and the work.

But no writer really exists in isolation.

Over the years, I’ve found that connecting with other writers—especially those working in fantasy, science fiction, and space opera—has been one of the most grounding and sustaining parts of the process. Not because we’re all chasing the same trends or audiences, but because we’re wrestling with the same questions.

How do you build a world that feels lived in?
How do you keep going when a project stretches longer than expected?
How do you balance imagination with coherence, scope with character?

These are shared problems, even when the answers differ.

Some of my best conversations haven’t been about publishing strategies or algorithms. They’ve been about craft. About why someone chose to make magic rare instead of abundant, or why another writer prefers slower ships and longer journeys between the stars. About the quiet decisions that shape a story long before a reader ever sees it.

Fantasy writers understand myth and weight.
Science fiction writers understand systems and consequences.
Space opera writers live at the intersection—where scale meets intimacy, and where a single choice can ripple across entire civilizations.

When writers from these spaces talk to one another, something interesting happens. You start borrowing lenses rather than ideas. A fantasy writer’s sense of history sharpens a sci-fi setting. A science fiction writer’s rigor grounds a space opera’s spectacle. Everyone walks away with stronger tools, not diluted voices.

At this stage of my life and career, I’m less interested in shouting into the void and more interested in conversation. The kind that happens in comment threads, quiet emails, late-night chats, or around gaming tables where stories are built collaboratively, moment by moment.

If you’re a writer working in these genres—published or not, outlining or revising, confident or uncertain—I believe there’s value in reaching out sideways instead of always looking up or ahead. Not to compare trajectories, but to share the road.

We’re all building worlds. Some of them just happen to have dragons. Or jump drives. Or both.

If you’re reading this and feel that pull toward connection, consider this an open hand. The work is still solitary—but it doesn’t have to be lonely.

More writing soon. More worlds. And, I hope, more conversations.