A Journey Set in Snow

On Writing Dreams of the Future

There are stories that unfold like wildfire - furious, relentless, devouring the page as if they were always meant to be written. And then there are those that fall like snow: slow, deliberate, cold and soft all at once, each step forward uncertain but meaningful.

Dreams of the Future is the latter.

Writing, in itself, is a paradoxical endeavor. One day, it feels like chasing shadows in the dark, phantoms of ideas flickering just beyond your grasp. The next, it's as tranquil as lying in the grass, staring up at the night sky, letting the constellations map themselves into the trajectory of your plot. And then come the sandstorms. The days when procrastination is not laziness, but a blinding gust that obscures the way forward - until, suddenly, you spot it: that elusive thread of a subplot, a flicker of character development buried beneath the dunes. And the story breathes again.

But Dreams of the Future has brought with it a different terrain altogether. Its writing journey has not been one of fire or sand - it is one of snow.

There is something deeply symbolic about snow. It covers the past like a memory frozen in place. It blankets the world in silence, forcing introspection. And walking through it is not easy. It slows you down. You feel the weight of every step, the ache in your legs, the sting in your lungs. Yet the quiet beauty of it all keeps you moving forward.

From the moment I began this story, I felt my boots sink deep into the snow. Around me, the landscape was familiar, yet transformed. I was not starting from scratch, but continuing a legacy. The memories of Echoes of the Past and the Our Story: Memories subseries lingered in the air like frost. Their voices, their sorrow, their unresolved questions - they followed me.

Skye, the protagonist of Dreams of the Future, is a reflection of this burden. A girl who never asked to be the center of a tale unfolding at the end of the world. Her journey, plummeted by snow, both literal and metaphorical - is mine. Like her, I shoulder the weight of everything that came before.

And there’s something remarkably human in that. We are all, in some way, characters forced into roles we didn’t choose. We walk through winters of our own - of grief, of uncertainty, of remembering - and we keep walking, because we must.

Each character I return to in this narrative brings with them not only their present self but the echoes of who they once were. Characters from Echoes, from Memories, or both. Revisiting them is like meeting old friends who have been through hell, and finding you’re not the same person you were when you first wrote them. Their struggles have grown. So has their complexity. So must your understanding of them.

That is the emotional toll of writing a continuation - not just of plot, but of people. Every line becomes a reckoning with memory, both mine and theirs.

And yet, despite the harshness of this snow-covered path, I cherish it.

Writing a book is not a sprint, it’s a pilgrimage. You go because you believe something sacred waits at the end. Maybe it's healing. Maybe it's truth. Maybe it's simply the act of having completed something beautiful and fragile, like a snowflake that managed to keep its shape before it touched the ground.

Dreams of the Future is well underway. Month by month, step by step, the path widens. Updates will continue, and perhaps, just perhaps, the snow is starting to melt.

Or maybe I’ve simply grown stronger walking in it.

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For more updates on my upcoming works, including reflections on writing, character development, and psychological landscapes, follow me here on Substack or on X at @LozinaStipe.