What Creative Writing Teaches Me About Designing For the Future
Can writing science fiction and fantasy novels make you better at navigating complex systems, AI, and human dynamics? From building fictional worlds to shaping real ones, it turns out, yes, absolutely — especially when the story becomes the strategy.
I wrote this blog for my LinkedIn page, but I realized it also works well for my writing blog.
One of the things I love is mentoring individuals, especially those just beginning their careers. During a recent conversation with someone I’ll call M, he asked how my hobby as a science fiction and fantasy writer intersects with my day job in Organizational Strategic Design, particularly in the AI space. (Oops, couldn’t make it two paragraphs without circling back to AI — oh well.)
I began writing my first novels in the early 2000s, but my love for sci-fi and fantasy dates back even further. My brother George, once an avid reader himself, introduced me to the genre in the 1980s. By the time I finished university in the '90s, I’d devoured Dune (Frank Herbert), The Belgariad (David and Leigh Eddings), and the Hyperion series (Dan Simmons) among seven bookshelves of other titles. Did I mention I was a massive Star Trek fan? (And yes, Star Wars too — but Trek was more inspiring to me. Yes, I went there, don’t come at me, people.)
It’s no surprise, then, that by the time Watson played Jeopardy in 2011, my curiosity about AI had been fully awakened. After watching AlphaGo make its infamous move 37 in 2016, I was hooked. That passion followed me into grad school, where I focused much of my Master’s research on how AI and people might meaningfully intersect.
Still, my writing remained on and off (mostly off) until the pandemic lockdowns — and a helpful nudge from a friend (thanks, Kristen) — got me writing again. And when I did, something shifted. My work deepened.
Back to M’s question: I shared that my day job makes me a better writer, and my writing makes me better at my job. Here’s how — in three big ways:
1. Writing and work both strengthen my systems thinking.
Crafting a story means understanding how one character’s choices — even small ones — ripple across time and space to affect others. Nothing happens in isolation. Likewise, in my strategic design work, every decision has a broader impact on the ecosystem. Writing keeps me attuned to how actions cascade, how patterns emerge, and how unexpected consequences unfold.
2. Writing keeps my emotional intelligence sharp.
I’ve been told my stories “hit you in the feels,” and I take that as a compliment. Like real people, my characters are never all good or purely evil. We exist in the grey, driven by complex motives. That mindset carries over to my work. Everyone — from senior leaders to interns — brings their full, messy humanity to the workplace. Writing reminds me to assume good intent, to look for the story behind the behaviour, and to lead with empathy and kindness.
3. Writing helps me imagine — and design — better futures.
One of my favourite creative challenges is writing myself into a corner. My partner teases me when I solve problems with “magic” or high-tech interventions (he’s not wrong). But here’s the trick: if I use magic, I still have to justify it. What in the world that I’ve built makes that spell possible? Then I go back and create those conditions. Work is like that, too. I often ask myself: What needs to happen for this future to be possible? That’s the beginning of strategic design.
The Story is the Strategy
Ultimately, while AI is a major disruptor, negative consequences aren’t inevitable. Through foresight practices, I don’t try to predict the future — I work to shape it. I search for signals, train others to think in systems, and use creative design to mitigate harm and push toward what’s possible. We can’t predict the future, but we can write it — in our choices, our designs, and the systems we shape every day. Whether I’m building fictional worlds or navigating real ones, one truth holds steady: the story is the strategy. And if we can craft better stories — ones that embrace complexity, empathy, and possibility — then maybe we can shape better futures, too.
As a writer, my job is to take the chaos of character, circumstance, and conflict and shape it into a future that, while imperfect, still feels earned — still feels right. That’s the same mission I have in my day job. The worlds may look different, but the strategy is the same.
So ask yourself: What future do you want to help write? And what needs to happen today to make it possible?
I wrote this blog for my LinkedIn page, but I realized it also works well for my writing blog.
One of the things I love is mentoring individuals, especially those just beginning their careers. During a recent conversation with someone I’ll call M, he asked how my hobby as a science fiction and fantasy writer intersects with my day job in Organizational Strategic Design, particularly in the AI space. (Oops, couldn’t make it two paragraphs without circling back to AI — oh well.)
I began writing my first novels in the early 2000s, but my love for sci-fi and fantasy dates back even further. My brother George, once an avid reader himself, introduced me to the genre in the 1980s. By the time I finished university in the '90s, I’d devoured Dune (Frank Herbert), The Belgariad (David and Leigh Eddings), and the Hyperion series (Dan Simmons) among seven bookshelves of other titles. Did I mention I was a massive Star Trek fan? (And yes, Star Wars too — but Trek was more inspiring to me. Yes, I went there, don’t come at me, people.)
It’s no surprise, then, that by the time Watson played Jeopardy in 2011, my curiosity about AI had been fully awakened. After watching AlphaGo make its infamous move 37 in 2016, I was hooked. That passion followed me into grad school, where I focused much of my Master’s research on how AI and people might meaningfully intersect.
Still, my writing remained on and off (mostly off) until the pandemic lockdowns — and a helpful nudge from a friend (thanks, Kristen) — got me writing again. And when I did, something shifted. My work deepened.
Back to M’s question: I shared that my day job makes me a better writer, and my writing makes me better at my job. Here’s how — in three big ways:
1. Writing and work both strengthen my systems thinking.
Crafting a story means understanding how one character’s choices — even small ones — ripple across time and space to affect others. Nothing happens in isolation. Likewise, in my strategic design work, every decision has a broader impact on the ecosystem. Writing keeps me attuned to how actions cascade, how patterns emerge, and how unexpected consequences unfold.
2. Writing keeps my emotional intelligence sharp.
I’ve been told my stories “hit you in the feels,” and I take that as a compliment. Like real people, my characters are never all good or purely evil. We exist in the grey, driven by complex motives. That mindset carries over to my work. Everyone — from senior leaders to interns — brings their full, messy humanity to the workplace. Writing reminds me to assume good intent, to look for the story behind the behaviour, and to lead with empathy and kindness.
3. Writing helps me imagine — and design — better futures.
One of my favourite creative challenges is writing myself into a corner. My partner teases me when I solve problems with “magic” or high-tech interventions (he’s not wrong). But here’s the trick: if I use magic, I still have to justify it. What in the world that I’ve built makes that spell possible? Then I go back and create those conditions. Work is like that, too. I often ask myself: What needs to happen for this future to be possible? That’s the beginning of strategic design.
The Story is the Strategy
Ultimately, while AI is a major disruptor, negative consequences aren’t inevitable. Through foresight practices, I don’t try to predict the future — I work to shape it. I search for signals, train others to think in systems, and use creative design to mitigate harm and push toward what’s possible. We can’t predict the future, but we can write it — in our choices, our designs, and the systems we shape every day. Whether I’m building fictional worlds or navigating real ones, one truth holds steady: the story is the strategy. And if we can craft better stories — ones that embrace complexity, empathy, and possibility — then maybe we can shape better futures, too.
As a writer, my job is to take the chaos of character, circumstance, and conflict and shape it into a future that, while imperfect, still feels earned — still feels right. That’s the same mission I have in my day job. The worlds may look different, but the strategy is the same.
So ask yourself: What future do you want to help write? And what needs to happen today to make it possible?
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