conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about Gamearth, Trilogy, Delrael with the genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'Game's End'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Game's End
  When you grow up seeing the dead, you get used to the tragic ways a person can die and finding their souls trapped between planes. But if the soul in question is the mother who abandoned you at birth, things get a lot more complicated.
  Craig took the exit off Highway 63 to take us back to town. I pulled out my phone to text Dad and let him know I was with the gang and things were fine, but it was dead. Not surprising. With the supernatural energy created between me, Craig, and Serge, I was lucky my cell didn't explode.
  Nell's cell binged with his message. "Who's mocking you, Casper? I'm just saying, if you can get satellite, can you beam in I Love Lucy? I miss that feisty redhead." She turned her attention to me. "Do you really want to go left? Or are you just guessing?"
  I turned up the heat in the car. "The word you're looking for is 'incurable,' which is followed by 'should be institutionalized.'"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me two more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Bad things had already happened. I told him what happened with Dad. Then he was unbuckling my seatbelt, pulling me over the console, into the backseat, and into his embrace. His tears mixed with mine.
  Of course. Of course the answer would be there, but the higher-ups would keep it from me. They wouldn't stop a soul-eater, they wouldn't warn me about my dad or tell me about my mom, but they would throw up obstacles. When Serge had died, one of the supernaturals, Hera, had come to us. Twice. She'd explained what was going on with me and Serge. My dad was dead, and she was nowhere to be found.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mom was on a round-trip, too, which meant we'd have a chance for a relationship. But she was supernatural and so was I. Did that complicate or make it easier for us to forge a bond? And what about Nancy? How would she and my mother deal with their shared love of my dad? Plus, Dad could take a long time before he returned—maybe long enough for Nancy to find someone else. Once again, I was left with too many questions, too many threads, and no way to tie up any of them. "I've never thought about death as loss—I mean, I see the dead. But Dad's gone and so is Mom. They're coming back, but I don't know when, and I don't know what it'll be like when they return." I struggled to get out the next words. "And who's next? The higher-ups let a soul-eater take both of my parents. None of you are immune—"
  And the biggest question loomed before me. Who was I going to lose, next? The soul-eater had taken both my parents, and sure, they weren't gone forever. But next time, the person I lost might not come back. Next time might be a forever loss. "I was hoping for resolution," I told Craig. "I was hoping for a clear view of the future."
  I took her hand. "Maybe there are no happy endings. Maybe there are just endings, and it is up to us to make them happy."
  Guyanese culture embraces the idea of the supernatural. It's not uncommon for your ancestors to visit you in your dreams (which is why you must always behave. No one wants Grandma or Grandpa coming for a midnight talk, and using their stern voice). In your waking life, you pay attention to what's going on around you because your deceased loved ones will do things—send a bird into your house, put a song on the radio—to let you know they are present and watching over you. It's one of my most favourite things about my culture—the idea that love is so strong, it can transcend space, time, and death.
  Much thanks as well to my fantastic agent, Amy Tompkins, for all the chats and wisdom, to the Furies, Nikki Vogel, Kate Boorman, and Hope Cook for their insights to the craft of storytelling, and to Sven, thanks for all the late night talks, early morning chats, and keeping me well-stocked in tea and cookies.