"The Dreaming World was born from a question that refused to leave me: What if the planet we sought to inhabit was already alive-and dreaming of us? This novel is more than a tale of space exploration; it's a meditation on the scars we carry from Earth, and how easily we might repeat our mistakes, even in paradise. I wanted to write a story where beauty is unsettling, where every breath of alien air carries a question, and where hope is both luminous and terrifying.
At its heart, this book is about memory-planetary memory, ancestral memory, and the quiet ache of leaving behind a dying home. Through Elara's journey and the haunting, unfolding mystery of Kepler-186f, I tried to explore how the act of colonization becomes spiritual when the land itself listens, reacts, and dreams back. As a writer, I am drawn to the liminal spaces between awe and dread, between science and myth, and The Dreaming World is where those threads converge.
It is a love letter to what we might become-if we are willing to listen."
"The Dreaming World was born from a question that refused to leave me: What if the planet we sought to inhabit was already alive-and dreaming of us? This novel is more than a tale of space exploration; it's a meditation on the scars we carry from Earth, and how easily we might repeat our mistakes, even in paradise. I wanted to write a story where beauty is unsettling, where every breath of alien air carries a question, and where hope is both luminous and terrifying.
At its heart, this book is about memory-planetary memory, ancestral memory, and the quiet ache of leaving behind a dying home. Through Elara's journey and the haunting, unfolding mystery of Kepler-186f, I tried to explore how the act of colonization becomes spiritual when the land itself listens, reacts, and dreams back. As a writer, I am drawn to the liminal spaces between awe and dread, between science and myth, and The Dreaming World is where those threads converge.
It is a love letter to what we might become-if we are willing to listen."