Here you will find links to an updated 10th Anniversary version of Wireless, my first self-published Novel, published poems, short stories, and essays. You’ll also find information about my newest novel Lord of Earth which I am currently shopping to agents.
In the tradition of Spanish speculative literature, Lord of Earth fuses high literary style with mythical subversions and alternate history. It is The Three-Body Problem meets Félix Palma’s The Map of Time set in a world where Djinn are not supernatural beings but cosmic scientists. Complete at 72,000 words, Lord of Earth is the first book in a three-book arc. Book two is outlined and the initial chapters have been written.
Aphantasia and My Writing: What Readers Should Know
My mind does not visualize the way most people’s minds do. Aphantasia shapes how I think, how I remember, and how I write.
Because I cannot summon images, I often stack descriptions or over‑describe. I rely on contrast — defining what something is not — to create edges. These habits aren’t just stylistic quirks; they’re how I navigate the world.
Unfortunately, AI produces similar patterns, though for entirely different reasons. Aphantasia and AI can look alike on the page, but they come from opposite origins.
Aphantasia produces stacked description
A writer with aphantasia:
- cannot see images
- builds scenes through accumulation
- defines by edges and boundaries
- relies on texture, temperature, pressure, sound, taste
I stack description because I’m trying to orient myself in a scene I cannot see.
Aphantasia produces over‑specificity
Writers with aphantasia often give:
- exact distances
- exact angles
- exact physical positions
- exact sensory sequences
- exact emotional transitions
AI does this to appear thorough or complete. I do it because I need spatial anchors to orient myself.
Aphantasia produces conceptual language
When I cannot visualize, I lean on:
- concepts
- physics
- geometry
- topology
- sensation
- metaphor
- memory
- emotional inference
AI leans on conceptual language because it lacks embodiment. I lean on it because I lack visualization.
One is mechanical. One is neurological.
This is where the disability becomes visible.
Aphantasia produces emotional inference instead of emotional imagery
I often simplify or intellectualize emotion. My writing can feel stark.
AI does this because it cannot feel. I do it because I cannot see the emotional cues most writers rely on.
I fight this constantly.
Aphantasia produces symmetry
This is where aphantasia overlaps most with AI.
I naturally write in:
- triads
- mirrored clauses
- balanced beats
- clean emotional arcs
AI does this because it is pattern‑driven. I do it because symmetry gives me order in a world I cannot picture.
The key difference
I strive for interiority — depression, guilt, fear, memory, trauma, identity fracture. I aim for psychological precision. My writing is built on moral stakes and a cosmology that is rigorous and layered.
I am a human who writes.
My humanity shapes my prose through:
- aphantasia
- trauma
- scientific training
- military training
- cosmological imagination
- and a mind that builds reality through texture, pressure, sound, memory, and logic — not images.
The patterns that resemble AI are not machine artifacts.
They are my cognitive architecture.
Aphantasic Writer’s Toolkit
This is a combination of strategy and rules of thumb that I use to write better. I build reality through texture, pressure, sound, memory, and logic — not pictures. These strategies help me write fiction that feels lived even when I cannot see it.
1. Anchor scenes in physiology, movement, and position
Because I can’t visualize, I anchor scenes through body position and physicality:
- weight distribution
- breath rhythm
- muscle tension
- contact points
- temperature shifts
I give the reader the physical truth of the moment.
2. One Sensory Anchor Per Moment
Aphantasia pushes me to stack descriptions. To avoid that, I choose one sensory detail to carry a moment:
- heat on the sternum
- grit on the tongue
- bark scraping the palms
One anchor is enough. More is not better.
3. Contrast Through Action (Not Negation)
I often define things by what they are not — a compensation for the lack of imagery. Instead, I use action to create edges:
Each parameter struck like an iron mallet against my training as a physicist. Not primordial magic. Not divine fiat. My entire universe was the product of applied physical engineering.
Each parameter struck like a hammer against the scaffolding of my physics. My entire universe was the product of applied physical engineering.
Same meaning. More human.
4. Emotion as Physiology
I cannot see emotional cues, so I translate emotion into bodily sensation. For examle:
- shame → A flush of heat prickled across my scalp
- anger → jaw tightening
- joy → laughter
- fear → diaphragm locking
This keeps my prose embodied instead of conceptual.
5. Break Symmetry
Aphantasia makes me write in triads, mirrored clauses, and balanced beats. Symmetry is comforting — but too much feels synthetic.
I break rhythm with:
- interruptions
- mistakes
- breaths
- shifts
Imperfection makes the prose human. I have developed a method for dealing with symmetry ruthlessly.
6. Sensory Triggers Instead of “Then” Transitions
Because I can’t visualize transitions, I tend to write:
- “Then I saw…”
- “Then the mission…”
Instead, I let sound, temperature, or bodily sensation trigger the shift:
“A gust of hot air hit us. My training snapped back online.”
7. Experience First, Physics Second
My scientific mind wants to explain. But explanation can flatten emotion.
I let the body register the moment first:
“The air thinned; my ears popped.”
Then I name the physics.
Diagnostic Checklist for Revision
When revising, I ask:
- Am I stacking descriptions? Choose one sensory anchor.
- Am I defining by negation? Replace with action.
- Am I naming emotion instead of showing physiology? Translate into the body.
- Am I drifting into conceptual or mythic language? Add one physical detail.
- Am I writing in triads or mirrored clauses? Break the symmetry.
- Am I using “Then” transitions? Use sensory triggers instead.
- Am I explaining physics instead of experiencing it? Body first, concept second.
- Am I interpreting instead of observing? Show the evidence.
- Is the emotional arc too clean? Add contradiction.
- Does the moment feel narrated instead of lived? Find the smallest physical truth.
