Can We Get A Rap?

So anyway, in a wonderful turn of events, the hard copy revising of one project re-stimulated the actual composing of the wip, which I heart. (Both the wip and the progression from revising to writing.) Having been quite distracted with post-writing responsibilities, how wondersplendent.

And yet I wonder. It’s a novella – at least I believe it is, as in it always had been? – yet I feel it broadening in its scope to a bigger picture of society in a way that I don’t often find suitable for novellas.

….

Well, say something! Or FINE, just listen. Why can’t every project happen like Keepsake? I’m honestly enjoying this still untitled project and all the elements (incl the society that’s horning in) but… I’m not entirely sure what’s going on. And no, that’s not always an exciting whirlwind of genius. (People think, “I don’t know what’s going on” inevitably translates to “I am making a masterpiece”… it does not.) I legit am not sure. About things.

And so perhaps that’s why my sleep brain – adulterous gentlewoman that she is – tried to inspire me last night? She dreamed (my sleep brain, who is apparently a separate entity) that I wrote a new story. (Not sure what format but whatever.) It was about…. a dying woman helping her husband find his next wife.

Get it together, sleep brain.

In the dream, it was like GEEEEEEEEEENIUUUUUUUUUUUUUS and full and witty! And then I woke up and not only is that not as robust as I clearly found it in the dream, it’s like borderline ridiculous. Who wants to write about a husband who is so afraid of being alone that his DYING wife takes it upon herself in her final days to find him a replacement. It just screams, we were meant for each other. Til death do us part. But just.

So if for some reason that resonates with you, feel free to write what couldn’t possibly be longer than a short story about it. Or a rom-com. Or a black comedy. You know what, maybe this is a better idea than I thought. Maybe I should just write a super short scene like I did when I had that boy Buffy story-dream? Hm. We shall see.

We have fun.

 

Last Warning, Imagination!

You know how I dream. So I routinely have to sit with daylight for a while before the emotional resin wears off and I can conclusively say what is real and what was part of the dream. Not that I really thought that kindly old lady had killed my brother, but that something I experienced internally in the dream was trying to make a break for it and escape with me back into consciousness. (It usually works. Half the day is gone before I realize I have no reason to be so ____.)

No, I’m not going to regale you with a new dream – mostly because it was about changing CDs and Chris Martin singing a version of a BarlowGirl’s song – oh and then there was a cassette and I said, what would I even do with these now? But I’m worried – perhaps as a means of procrastination – whether or not last night’s epiphany is similar to dreamland runoff. Or like those times I totally plan out what I’m going to wear the next day only for the morning to give my safe-beneath-the-covers exuberance major side-eye and remind me why I don’t wear heels in this city. That and how much should you trust a revelation that came during bouts of congestion-induced sleep apnea? (I know, I know – it’s like asking how many licks to the center of a tootsie roll pop. Who can know such things.)

Ready To Take On The City In Heels (Before I Wake Up)

As revelations go, this is… sort of an undertaking. For some reason I’m hesitant to write it down – because here I only write down the *most* relevant, important and fact-checked nuggets of ancient wisdom – but it also made my brain go a million miles down the “I am not and never intend to be of the mind to self-publish fiction but for those of you who are, do stories like this make you hesitate at all?!” Because let’s say for instance that you wrote a novel and then you wrote another one and then you wrote a shorter one. The first one was, let’s say, two genres and the next one was just one of them and the shorter one was the other. And just as you were finishing the other, you realized you could do the first one better. But let’s say it’d been a year since you started sending the novel out and after a lot of attention, you got fed up (the attention confirming your brilliance, the snail’s pace making you irrational) and self-published it. A year and two books later, you might have done it better is all.

All hypothetical.

(And Jen-the-Twin, the title. O_O Justify my love.)

 

 

Might As Well Post It

That title should adequately prepare you for the quality below.

We must always keep our eyes open. Sensitive to the beauty and life all around us. For when you least expect it, you will be enjoying hot fries at McDonalds around lunchtime, surrounded by the people you love, and through the window you will see a man lean down to ask a question of one of the cabbie’s in a long string of taxis parked outside. Said man will somehow drop his (thankfully closed) beverage through the window – which is pretty impressive based on how very little the cabbie deigned to open it – and then said man will apologetically reach his hand into the window after said beverage, at which point the cabbie will become alarmed and thrust both his own hands at the sliver of an opening and emphatically insist that he will retrieve the beverage from his own lap. And this scene will be really funny for some reason, particularly because it was without audio.

Just celebrate the little things is what I’m saying.

In other news (meaning, I wrote the above like two hours ago and now I have returned and you are none the wiser) – I read the news, took a nap and dreamt I was in Amish country. Thankfully, my beard went unscathed.

Speaking of which, you know that feeling? When you just make the right decision? I’d just gotten home and offered to accompany the husband back out, when I had a split second of wisdom. Don’t go, my brain said. We need a nap. But I started putting my shoes on anyway, because … well, because I’m an idiot. After some breakdown indicators that apparently did not go unnoticed, my husband suggested I take a nap and went about his merry way. Two minutes later, as I started toward nonsensical dreams about being a compassionate investigative reporter who is drawn to the Amish way of life, I just had the wonderful feeling. Like I’d dodged a public breakdown on the subway. Really makes ya think.

(That’s probably enough of that.)

 

I Dream The Boy Buffy

So, you know those dreams of mine. (Yes, you do.) There was one from this summer that I had to actually write down; this scene is drawn from the story of the dream, it is not the dream itself. I wrote it down while we drove back from Wisconsin in June and I figured, it’s not growing (at least not that I know or plan at present) so why not just let you see it?

***

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He slid the smooth stone across the blade sending all too familiar flashes of orange light into the space between them.

“Something different about this time and the millions before?” The other boy’s eyes were the only indication of interest; the rest of his body kept at work. Travis had seen the phenomenon enough times to know his friend was in fact paying attention.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Because if you know some other Sentinel, I’ve got a raid scheduled in Azeroth.”

“Paris.” Travis tossed the throwing knife he’d been sharpening onto the pile between his feet before stalking to the table and yanking the crossbow from its surface.

This wasn’t the time, which meant it was precisely when Paris’ rapier wit kicked in. Why Travis still let his concern show was the real mystery. All it proved was that Paris was rightly chosen as Sentinel and that Travis wasn’t born with the confidence to enjoy an mmorpg on the same day he vowed to seal the threshold.

“You didn’t schedule a raid for today.” It was as close as he would come to salvaging it.

“No, but I could rustle one up.”

“Can you just answer a question for once? Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

He shouldn’t have phrased it that way. They were friends. Saying he’d earned something made him sound like just another of Paris’ subjects.

“Can you stop asking the same question? Yes, I’m sure. I’m so sure that I already accepted their acceptance. And applied for student loans and housing and gave my notice at the car wash.” Paris’ eyebrow leapt up at the close of his statement. It simultaneously demanded whether his friend was satisfied and accused his friend of being unreasonable.

“Well, like you said, I don’t know any other Sentinels. So excuse me if I’m slightly concerned about what’s gonna happen to my hometown come fall while you’re off playing university.”

Paris snorted at that. “Get it through your head, Geppetto. I’m a real boy.”

It may well be his last chance to talk some sense into his friend – no certainty the day would go to plan – and Travis couldn’t get his foot out of his mouth. “That’s not what this is about,” he backpedaled.

“Oh, it is.”

His balled fist was drawn chest high before Travis forced himself to stop. That was a fight he’d never win, even if he started with a sucker punch. Having his back turned wouldn’t be enough; Paris would have to have his arms broken and at least one eyeball removed before Travis had a chance. But time was running out. If his best friend couldn’t make Paris stay, nothing would.

The ceiling rained down a curtain of dust and sheetrock before the boys registered the booming sound. Outside, a symphony of car alarms competed with the very few screams.

Travis was already offering the crossbow when Paris finally turned around, but the boy rolled his shoulders forward twice before accepting it. With a grin, he trotted out of the room, his friend watching the white debris leap away from his body as he went.

“Time’s up.”

***

Very short and, again, not an exact replica of the dream, but I liked the storyline. (Also, yay for WoW references!) ^.^

 

All I Have To Do Is Dream

Ezra: “I have had a dream that continued. It started out as the dream from the last night and then continued past all the things that already happened.”

Me: “That is seriously awesome.”

Ezra: “It was a nightmare.”

Me: “Whoops.”

But seriously, at this point, he at least understands that he and I are not the norm when it comes to dreaming, recollection and lucidity. (Of course, I say this but I secretly still believe everyone experiences things the same way I do.)

This is a good time to mention that you might find the rest of this creepy. I don’t. But I’m me. You’ve been sort of warned?

Lately, my dreams have been…I don’t even really know how to describe them. They’re always vivid and there’s always several but there’s just been something different. For one thing, they seem to have decided that high concept plot is the way to go. O_o Whereas before, I’d have wonderful dreams that meander and may be more about setting than anything, they’ve lately been much more succinct. I even had one over the summer (which I may have mentioned) that I simply had to write down, in the event that it’s actually a short story, novella or novel. It certainly seemed that way. I wasn’t in this one, before you start to call me Narcy…which I’m not denying but as yet, I don’t write myself into my work. As yet.

One from night before last – because to be honest, last night’s weren’t too exciting by comparison – involved a house at the bowl of a cul-de-sac. Two houses, I guess. The set-up was quite familiar, but then, it was a cul-de-sac and I grew up in Sacramento. I don’t know what was drawing me or anyone else to huddle around the house – think of it as a childhood afternoon where you’re just sort of congregating/playing in front of a neighborhood home – but what became clear was that we needed to run before the man came. I don’t know if he was coming home or was already in the house – and why we hadn’t been concerned before – but I took off into the next door neighbor’s driveway. In the open garage, there were already people hiding and there was a car under a white tarp. I climbed under the car, which almost immediately became something I could lift and maneuver over myself. (And as usually happens, I was suddenly charged with my son’s protection, too – nevermind that he hadn’t been in the dream nor had I been married?)

So I’m trying to make sure the “car”/tarp is on top of us  without my legs protruding from the tarp – which was a problem for some reason – and I realize that if the man comes, trying to get myself and Ezra from beneath this thing with time and finesse enough to escape him is going to be a feat. So out we come, hunching over and dashing alongside the partitioning, manicured bush. While we are escaping down the street, I look back to see a guy like Josh (you know how that goes) standing in the bad guy’s driveway. Over his shoulder, I see the bad guy. A moment later, they’re both gone.

Only now that we’ve turned the corner and are rushing up steps to knock on doors, we’re all together. The real Josh and me and Ez. They’re narrow little porches with awnings and it reminds me of something out of Far From Heaven. Finally, a woman answers a door and we come rushing in. Not wanting to tell her the truth as to why we need to hang out in her home, I end up suggesting that we impose elsewhere, to which she drops her suspicions and offers to at least make us something to eat first. Relieved that we won’t be back on the street where the man is inexplicably hunting, I relax into the couch. Josh has perhaps gone to the powder room. At any rate, he’s down the hall when it goes weird.

At her prompting, I introduce myself. Because it’s 1950-something and this is apparently the neighborhood where I grew up, the woman knows my family name (and also, it’s not my family name which is when I realize I’m a fictitious character). Smiling, she motions toward the couch on which I’m sitting and says, easy as you please, that my brother died on that couch. Pieces of him, his hair maybe, is probably still on it somewhere. She motions to the necklace I’m wearing – which is a strange pendant that almost reminds me of an old bottle cap remover – and there’s some connection between it and my brother. Thankfully, Josh has overheard the strangeness and begins looking around the bathroom for something to subdue the woman with, but I’ve already assumed that she couldn’t have harmed my brother on her own so there must be a man who’s likely to return home from work soon. I don’t let these things play out in dreams where my child is present so, instead of waiting to see how we handle the woman and where we go next for shelter in our obviously helter-skelter neighborhood, I opened my eyes (in real life) and called the whole thing off.

 

Do You See What I See

Sooo, everyone’s familiar with hypnagogic hallucinations, yes? Yeees. The downside of lucid dreaming is … well all the other stuff that can happen in the same phase of “sleeping”. Like sleep paralysis. Or – as I mentioned – hallucinations. It’s wundebar, believe me. And having head congestion makes those last two pretty much a sure thing for me. In my opinion, no matter how much “sleep” you get during what was for me a stretch of this phenomena, you don’t really feel rested. Of course, it’s not deep sleep and that may be why this is, but also, it brews paranoia about going to sleep that results in muscle tension (again, for me) and knots in my back. #YAY

So anywhom. That was my last week. And this weekend. Splendid, I know. And after I realized what the NECESSARY is for Avrilis’ sequel, I was really hoping to get back to the actual writing. But wow, writing a second book is faaaar more slowgoing. If there weren’t a reason for a sequel, I would not be into it. The world required more, but I wasn’t exactly sure what the more was. The character still needed something, even if it’s turning out she…really can’t have what she needs…because it would require not being from the world she’s from. (Don’t you hate when that happens.) Now that I know what the world needs – although of course not everyone (the little imaginary people who reside therein) would agree – I want to PowerSauce it like the first one! But…that whole A side/B side. Which you’ll recall or read for the first time.

And then, because I had to go through a few posts to find that one and wanted to share this one, too. (This one! This one!) I seriously have to go through old posts periodically and repost them. Because I’m way more narcissistic than you gave me credit for.

In conclusion, we finally got an answer as to why my son watches the special features of every DVD he owns or rents from church. Apparently, he likes to watch parts about how they’re written and made because he maybe wants to make a movie one day. That’s what you call, hop into my mouth…if you want…to live.

 

The Curious Case Of Ezra Morrow

I have no idea what is up but last night I had about four insanely intense dreams. Sérieusement. Maybe it was because we actually slept with the heater on? I kept waking up after each dream. The next to last one had my boys and I living in an apartment in what appeared to be the 18th arrondisement, though there were no recognizable landmarks – but you know how your brain just decides these things. Anyway, it was absolutely beautiful and I do remember we were hurrying home and up our wrought iron staircase – but I don’t remember the danger in that dream. Except that I “coughed” up something granular, purple and bulbous – if you can even imagine what that would look like. Unfortunately, I can remember the taste and the sound of it forcing my mouth open. Yum

But the last dream I had was the most epic. It started with us already being in the underground city. Except we were above ground. O_O Right. The point is that the grocery store, the theater or church sanctuary, etc were all connected and we never had to go upstairs.

Josh and I and Ez were in the grocery store when the world started spinning, horribly. Ezra was younger by a bit – and incrementally became younger throughout the dream – and was laughing.

At first, I didn’t want him to be laughing because if and when he realized the severity of what was happening, I thought the sound of his laughter becoming screams would be too disturbing. Seriously, that was my internal thought. I was holding him tightly to me and sliding down aisles while other people maintained their footing – of course I was holding a child and they weren’t – and we passed into the canned food sections. I was yelling for people to grab us and help me away from things would seriously hurt my child if they started falling. I don’t remember anyone helping us, though they stared wide-eyed, and then I somehow got myself turned around.

Eventually, the hardest tremors ceased and we knew – not that anyone said it – that there was no way out of any of the tunnels. They were completely blockaded with rubble and we – constituting a small city – were trapped except for the roof access that was connected to the grocery store.

People start to behave strangely when they figure out that they’re trapped, the world is falling apart outside and they’re more than likely going to die where they are. Some woman decided to start fires to separate the grocery store into neighborhoods – right! – and keep people away from her area. It seemed like people were looking to me, so at this point everyone in the underground knew who I was and expected me to solve problems. Nice.

The freezer sections, the little islands that run through the grocery store, had stopped working long ago and were filled with water… they also served as evidence that the floors beneath us were now submerged in freezing water from the snow storm that might have been responsible for everything that was happening and from the pipes bursting in the subway, etc. So I’m struggling to reach through this freezing water to get to things that can be used as buckets to transport it to the still small fires. At one point, I ask the woman next to me – who is holding a child younger than now toddler Ezra – to hold him while I put out these fires.

I distinctly remember that I found the matches being used and threw them all on the fire to keep people from going off and making new fires while I was putting these out. Coulda probably threw them into the freezer islands, but I didn’t. We have to stand by our decisions, people.

So the woman is holding my baby and hers – though she seems too old to have a baby, to be honest – and I don’t really know why I couldn’t have given him to Josh… he’s around, but I’m not sure where. Anyway, so I’m getting the fire out and up some industrial looking steps and out the glass ceiling/door, I see a helicopter landing on the roof. Everyone starts rushing in that direction and I know they only have room for the small children. The woman who is holding Ezra and her own child is being ushered to the doors and I’m relieved.

When I get the fire out, I head up the stairs to see if I’m too late to say goodbye to Ezra. Only I find him sitting on the roof  and the gurneys I saw before have been put away and the helicopter is starting to lift. I pick him up – and now he’s a few months old – and am completely overwhelmed. I know my face must have looked like a beaten hound dog. My heart is completely broken. (I can honestly recall the feeling right now.) The woman who was holding him, steps away from the lifting helicopter and completely without remorse says to me, “I didn’t know if they’d let me give two babies.”

I don’t say anything to her, just hold Ezra to my chest as I head out of the cold and back down the stairs into the chaotic underground. I’m staring straight head, holding my now baby Ezra close to me. I am dreading finding Joshua, telling him Ezra is stuck down here with us. That the helicopter left him. And everyone is turning to watch me, all of the people trapped with us. They are stopping what they’re doing and this huge place falls silent while I descend the steps in shock, protectively holding a baby I know I can’t protect from what apparently is going to be the end of life on Earth.

It was. Really depressing.

So I thought I’d share it with you. You’re welcome!

 

Skidduhmarinky-dinky-dink

SO mad at my tiny, big sister JenJen right now. Had a dream – YES, I’m mad at her for something that happened in the dream! – and she was casually walking by me in a huge back storage part of a furniture store. As soon as I saw her, I said out loud, “Oooook, so this is a dream then.” Because yeah, not only does she not live in Montreal but how would she have been in this warehouse even if she did happen to surprise me and fly out. Weirdly, she didn’t say anything, only smiled softly and walked into my embrace.

Come to think of it, she was acting really weird. So now I think you’re keeping things from me, JenJen!! O_O

Jerk.

Have you ever seen How To Train Your Dragon? BUT. Have you seen it 78,421 time? Because if not…you haven’t really seen it. (The reason this DVD hasn’t been destroyed is because it is actually worth watching that many times.)

Doo-bee-doo-bee-doooooooo

::sniff::

Maybe I’ll come back later.

 

That Thing Brick Said About Bears

So I’ve never been to Washington D.C. But. I have not been to Washington D.C. And I can assure you that the D.C. of last night’s dream was not the real D.C.

You know that thing of when you think a thought in a dream and then the thought shifts the dream? Mkay, so I was thinking – in dream – that I should take the train to D.C. since I just got back from NYC and loved the train ride. (Although I have no reason outside of sightseeing to go to DC – I can stop using the periods now right ’cause they’re getting on my nerves.) Anyway, so suddenly, I was disembarking said train – only the train was invisible and it was more like I had already disembarked and said train had gone on its merry way in what would no doubt be record time for Amtrak. Oh and there weren’t any train tracks anyway.

O_O

Okay. So, I get off the train that never was and I am not horribly surprised to find myself looking out over lush green hills of rolling meadow. I immediately start down an incline, smelling the dew on the grass. No really, it smelled lovely. But as I’m getting to the base of the hill, I’m getting more and more concerned about the ADULT GRIZZLY BEARS lounging around me and at the bottom of the hill. I’ve already passed one on my right and now am too frightened to go back to the train-that-never-was and now to my left on the mount of another rolling hill is a MOTHER bear with her cub (who may or may not have been mentally disabled) and to my left is another full grown bear and at the bottom are several more. So now I’m surrounded by bears. They haven’t seemed to take notice of me just yet but I’m pretty sure the mother’s gonna eat my kidneys. And their pelts were damp and slicked into dark brown triangles and they were rolling around on the blanket of wet grass and it was the realest dream ever and I would have cried were it not for the burning that was going on in my throat.

Did you watch that documentary? That poor guy. But I wish he’d been there to get ate while I tried to find the train.

Anyway, the dream ends there. With the knowledge that I’m not long for the earth.

 

New York, New York

[First thing's first - 'member that contest I posted like twice and tried to force you to click the link and go over and read stuff that clearly didn't interest more than like two of you who also were probably just responding to my sobering desperation? I'm a finalist. You can click here to verify that I'm not making stuff up because I'm bored and breakfast is taking forever making its way to my mouth. Woot!]

On to New York. (Not literally until this weekend, though.) Which I just realized my tiny big sister, JenJen, wrote about, too! The last time I was there was four years ago, but that’s not the story I wanna tell. Okay, well, maybe this:

We behaved like we’d been dipped in spirits. Maybe Jonathon had (pretty sure he hadn’t) but I know I was as sober and stupid as I ever am!

Anyway! The first time I went to New York, I was five years old. Celebrated my sixth birthday. The parts that stood out the most? Shopping, for one. George Michael playing in Bloomingdales. Me wearing my favoritest outfit EVAH! (Pink spandex shorts under a neon green skirt with a white t-shirt decorated with neon pink and green puffy paint with neon pink and green – see a pattern here? – scrunch socks and ….. wait for it. LA Gears. WITH. GILLS.) Jennifer getting lost after we came out of the museum of natural history. Jennifer getting a wrought iron spear stuck in the back of her thigh. Jennifer getting stitches at some “hospital” where a dude had been severely burned on his face but was in the waiting room with us. Oh, Jennifer. Thanks for the memories.

You know what I honestly remember most? The fact that for weeks after we came back to California – I say as though I’m writing this from California – I had nightmares. Apparently I’d been fearing for my one year old brother’s life the entire six week trip because upon our return, all the things that “could” have happened to him played out in my dreams. Those dreams are more vivid at times than the actual memories of the trip! (Other than when Jennifer was given the Jem doll that turned out to be one of the Misfits and at first we were like, why would you give someone the Misfits doll instead of one of the Holograms?! But then we fell in love with the cassette tape of songs that came with it? ‘Member?!)

One dream was in Queens, outside of buildings I would learn were projects. I was running up to the entrance and had been chasing literally the big bad wolf. O_O How’s that for a six year old’s nightmare? He was bipedal just like in the cartoon and had a snout that more resembled a crocodile. Just like in the cartoon. Anyway, just as I was getting to the front doors, there was an explosion. Not very big. But it turned out it had been my baby brother. Which I knew because his little soft-soled shoes were still standing there on the pavement where he’d been. O_O Yep.

Oh and there was that one rare occasion upon which we took a cab. It was late and it’d been raining and my baby brother had horrible allergies and junk when he was little. Had to sleep with a humidifier. Anyway, I remember his stroller being encased in that plastic dealie. I. Don’t remember having an umbrella myself, though. I don’t know, it just seems like maybe one parent taking five small children to visit New York for six weeks wasn’t the best laid plan. O_o Sure, I loved it at the time but um… I’m pretty sure I’d not do it with two of my own.

I also remember the picnic where I won some race and was a total spoiled brat who couldn’t hide my disappointment at the quality of the prize. (But then neither could Jennifer.) And then we took those “crappy” prizes home and hung them on the wall for years to come.

{Warning: I did not reread this from when I wrote it at like four this morning. Huh. Shoulda prolly said this at the top, huh?}