The worlds of fiction and science can, at first glance, seem like opposites. One runs on numbers, analysis, and evidence; the other on dragons, metaphors, and made-up words. It feels like asking the age-old question: How is a raven like a writing desk? And yet, I hope to convince you they have more in common than you might think.

Since I can remember, I’ve lived at the interface of these two worlds—one foot in scientific research, the other in speculative fiction. For a long time, I thought of them as separate passions. Chemistry on one side, creative writing on the other. Two hemispheres. Two boxes. But, as anyone who’s tried to compartmentalize a chaotic brain will know, things tend to jump the fence.

It was during my time at ETH Zurich, in Professor Roman Stocker’s Environmental Microfluidics lab, that I began to see the crossover more clearly. My PhD is rooted in science: controls, data, microscopes, the microbial marvels of the ocean. Coming from a Chemistry Master’s, where storytelling usually meant “we replaced this hydrogen atom with a chlorine,” I expected more of the same. But something was different.

Roman emphasized narrative. Not just what we found—but why it mattered. Our work didn’t stop at “this algae changes shape in response to bacteria.” It continued with: How does this fit into the larger ecological puzzle? What story does it tell about life in the ocean?

In that space, I discovered something important. Science benefits from storytelling. And storytelling—especially the kind that builds worlds from scratch—benefits from scientific curiosity, logic, and structure.

This duality has shaped both my research and my writing. Under the pseudonym S.T. White, I recently released The Way of Threadcasting (and spinning chaos)—a fantasy romp through rival empires, fractured magic systems, and time-meddling mages, with occasional help (and hindrance) from talking raccoons and winged wolves. Continuing that adventure, I’m now working on a dystopian YA novel inspired by the unhinged consequences of unchecked climate change—a thought experiment gone a little too far.

What might surprise some is how deeply connected these disciplines are. Scientists and storytellers are both seekers of truth, of coherence, of meaning. They ask questions. They imagine possibilities. And whether through field experiments or fictional plots, they try to make sense of a world that is always shifting.

For me, blending the analytical and the imaginative has not only made me a better scientist—it’s made me a better storyteller.