The problem was never your imagination. It was where your world lives.
You already know your world is rich. The trouble is that it lives in a dozen places at once: a map in one app, character notes in a notebook, a timeline half-remembered, and a naming idea on the back of a receipt.
So the contradictions creep in. A river runs east in chapter three and west in chapter nine. A character's eye colour shifts between drafts. You spend a whole writing afternoon hunting for the one detail you know you invented — and never actually write.
The fix is calm and ordinary: one codex, a light structure, and a habit of writing each detail down where you can find it again. That is the whole idea — and it is the whole product.
You do not need a bigger imagination. You need to stop losing the world you have already built.