Inside the Development of Death Seer:

Remember those supposed simpler days when you were younger? I mean, everyone suggested to you that these days were grand and rightly simplified. Of course, the complications of society never meddled with your childhood happiness. You were protected at all times by this childlike prism of dreams and ideals. It was easier than to lapse into this dream realm and avoid reality at all cost. I've always wondered if the ease of drifting into the imaginary realm was easier because our souls were overpowering the demands and restrictions placed by the body. Who knows? 

Anyways, when I write it seems that I am trying to sustain that childlike ability to efficiently imagine without any restrictions. Restrictions come about in the form of adult obligations such as attending classes, seeking out a profession, or working effortlessly to seal that job. By the end of a typical, busy day, my energy is spent. That connection between real demands or dreamed ones seems indistinct or distant. I cannot readily seek it out because my mind just wants one more bodily desire appeased before bed-time. There's no more whimsicality left in me. I'm left Peter Pan in Hook after being grown up. I've dispensed the function of dreams from my mind's control center. Where have they vanished to?

This is my plight right now. I want to write desperately. Every fiber in me protests my inaction when it comes to writing. I know internally that I love it and derive satisfaction from it. Even, if in the midst of it, it seems more like drudgery to write a certain passage once or revise several more times over.  Whoever said writing was a painless, easy task? It is like any human endeavor in that it takes persistence to imagine a world completely known to you and unknown to everyone outside of your mind.

This could even be more complicated. You have to write this intricate world with brevity. If it is too superfluous, you might abandon your audience in your attempts to describe every facet of the world, plot, and characters. Therefore, you can only limit yourself to effective perspectives that people can empathize with. If no one sees a necessity to follow a certain character through the trials of the life. Then, why would anyone want to read it? You might involve zombies, carnage,a convoluted political scheme, or perhaps some supernatural intrigue. But if your characters involved with this scheme are apathetic about the world that you placed them in: Why would they or anyone care about their future fates?

See, I know I want to write. I stubbornly still clutch to that impossible dream of finally publishing the work and conversing with my readers about the story. More than anything, I cannot wait to hear people's reactions. Even if that person feels the need to rant and rave about the book's poor qualities, I still want to hear about their experience with the world and characters who persist every day within my imagination.

Sometimes, I have excited people ask me about a date of completion. I always appreciate the excitement that stews over the story.  At least, someone is interested in delving into my delusions. Maybe, someone will not find me to be either morbid or sadistic. They may actually understand the underlying message that fills the surface of the story. They are the types of people who understand the purpose of storytelling in that sometimes we are reflecting the true state of the world. But, we writers are also imagining some trajectory to show ways we can improve ourselves as a world or find better ways of connecting deeply with other people.

What will people think about my story? Does it defy too many genres? What sort of genre marker should it label itself with? I cannot even sum up a simple sentence that encompasses all the elements of the story. Everyone thinks it is about a boy who has the ability to foresee the deaths of other people. What about the psychological effects of seeing these images? Does he truly believe in them himself? What is the source of these imaginings: are they genetic or purely manifestations of a psychologically troubled boy? Can these images be used to imposed themselves on a preformed future? How much of our futures are planned in advance?

Here is the main reason why simple explanations about the plot cannot be completed. I could write pages on top of pages to explain the plot. By doing that, am I not simply writing the novel that will answer that question: So, fantastyfreak, what is this novel of yours about? Well, someday, you shall see. For now, you must wait while I conjure the confidence to write the remainder of the story.