Phoebe Polar

Writing dystopia means your research is indistinguishable from doomscrolling. The tabs are open. The coffee's cold. The line keeps blurring.

Fluorescent lights. Static. Empty corridors. I don't film this for content. I film it because someday someone will ask what it felt like. This is the answer.

That moment when your "unrealistic" villain's policy shows up in a press release. Close laptop. Go for a walk. Come back. It's still there.

Spend hours perfecting oppressive systems on the page. Look up. Realize I'm three payments behind on five subscriptions I forgot I had. The irony is deafening.

Writer's block hits different when the block is realizing your dystopia has better infrastructure than your actual city.

Thank you!

Deleted 3000 words today. Not because they were bad. Because they came true before I could finish the chapter. This keeps happening.

The hum of servers in the distance. The whir of surveillance. The buzz of sleeplessness. These are the instruments. I'm just transcribing the song.

Finally chose a name for my book! "OPTIMAL STATE" is coming in 2026!

"She audits the Protocol—the algorithm scoring citizens' access to everything. When she discovers it's manufacturing behavior, not measuring it, she faces a choice: stay trapped in the system, or opt out and lose everything."

Someone asked what I'm working on. I said "speculative fiction." They said "oh, like fantasy?" I said "no, like Tuesday."

Three cups in. The protagonist finally breaks. So do I. We both need better coping mechanisms. Neither of us will get them.

Neon signs dying one letter at a time. That's the aesthetic. That's also the grocery store on my block. Inspiration is just paying attention to decay.

Dystopian writer habit: collecting news screenshots labeled "for the novel" knowing full well they'll be outdated by publication. The archive grows faster than the draft.

Coffee's cold again. The cursor blinks. Outside, another camera gets installed. I add it to the manuscript. The fiction shrinks daily.

They don't burn books anymore. They just make sure you're too tired to read them. Chapter 7 practically wrote itself after that realization.

Wrote a scene where nobody speaks for six pages. Editor asked if it was intentional. I said yes. Truth: I forgot what people sound like when they're not performing.

The screens went dark at 3am. That's when the city finally exhaled. That's when I write my best chapters.

Thank you!

Right-wing Department of Agriculture burning your garden to the ground to force you into the fields to replace migrants and buy Argentinian products. I give it… a few months.

She would, too. Such a serious offense. 😂

New space, same darkness. I write dystopian fiction. Sometimes I check the news and realize I’m writing nonfiction with better pacing. Welcome to the feed.

New here. Same dystopia. The platform changes. The surveillance doesn’t. Let’s see how long this one stays honest.

Migrating to Bluesky like everyone else fleeing the burning platform. Ironic that my genre is dystopia and I still have optimism about social media. The contradiction writes itself.