By James Wadman

There are two seeds from which my first novel grew, both of which came to me in my dreams.  I saw death in a dream, and I wondered of the neurobiological implications of near-death experiences on the perception of time and space.  This became a simple question: can time collapse in the moments before death?  As I tried to answer this question, my mind was consumed by a beautiful concept of human potential.  Right before my eyes was a story, infinitely interwoven with the empowerment of dreams and human emotion—the perfect recipe for my first novel.  Wordless pages followed for months.  I left this story as only a thought in my mind, exploring the scientific concepts that would nurture the realism in my fictional work.  Science was the reason I was able to invent a story in creative space.

My second dream was less sophisticated but, in a way, monumentally more appealing.  I can’t remember what I saw (perhaps a flower or a tree, maybe even a patch of grass), but I was instantly drawn closer.  It was as if nothing in the world mattered as long as this hypnotic gradient of green shades, glittering in pale yellow sunlight.  It was in that moment that I knew that this idea I was entertaining for months was something I must write down, something I must share.  I awoke from this dream, for the first time really considering myself to be a writer.  I had the obligation of sharing what I had seen.  So as the science settled in my mind, I stepped back to write something more beautiful that only the magic of the human mind could bear.

Seeds of Diamondis

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