A Lovely Moment

 Hi there . . . remember me?  Yeah, I know it’s been a long while and another long day of teaching that’s worn me down in more ways than one--a primary reason I haven’t been able to post in a while, but that’s another blog for another day.  Right now, I just want to write about something that made me smile for a bit.

I just heard the 70’s song, “Dreamweaver” on the radio.  It was never a song that I particularly loved (though I liked it well enough) until recently, and the reason is because of a novel I read last year and loved.  And when I heard it this time, I was immediately taken back to that lovely story.

The novel centers on a young woman named Mary who has just learned that the leukemia she’d survived years ago might be back.  At the same time, a wonderful and handsome man has come into her life, almost not taking no for an answer when he asks her out.  Not wanting to scare him away with her possibly tragic news, but not sure if she’s ready for a relationship, either, Mary decides to keep the burden of her sickness inside and take a chance on going out with him, just once.  She feels this small escape might do her even the smallest amount of good.     

When the man, Rhage, picks her up in his 1970s muscle car and escorts her like the gentleman he is, she is filled almost to the brim with sadness, anger and worry over the possibility of her leukemia returning.  But as he starts the engine and begins to drive to the restaurant where he made reservations to take her, Mary describes the song, “Dreamweaver” as coming through the speakers.  

As he drives and the song plays, she closes her eyes, tells him to go faster, puts down her window and lets the cool evening air blow her hair all around.  And for a fleeting moment, Rhage takes her away from everything that is troubling her even if he doesn’t know it.  He’s given her a precious gift, a brief moment of reprieve a moment that is one of the most lovely in the book.

When a Movie is Almost Good

I haven’t watched many movies lately, but one that kept nagging at me recently was the remake of Point Break.  Now, before I get started, let me just say that I’ve heard and read all of the reviews of it and I know how bad they were.  I was already let down by that because I love (LOVE) the first Point Break and so, despite the reviews, I had to see the remake.  I felt like I owed it to the first one and myself as a moviegoer.  And, I admit, sometimes if a film is very poorly reviewed, that piques my interest—weird, I know, but what can I say?  So, here it goes. 

The film opens with fantastic views of two men on dirt bikes in the desert.  They’re evaluating a daring stunt that ultimately turns out tragic for one of them and leaves the other, Johnny Utah (played here by Luke Bracey, Keanu Reeves in the original), scarred for life and feeling responsible.  Right away, I see that this film is going to be a lot of style and a little substance (sigh).  The acting is only average, the writing, probably slightly below and the scene transitions quickly, possibly a little too quickly to seven years later.  We don’t get a chance to fully take in what has just happened and what it has done to our protagonist, and this is a theme that is resonating throughout.  I’ll explain more about that later.

We next see Utah training to work as a Field Agent for the FBI.  He is studying the FBI’s most recent headache: a series of fantastic robberies carried out in death-defying capacity by daredevils who distribute the stolen goods to the less fortunate.  A former motor cross star and extreme athlete, Utah immediately comes to the conclusion that the robbers are, too.  His instructor has a few lines before simply saying “Okay,” and taking this rookie’s word, giving him a gun, and a pass to seek out these Robin Hood-like thrill seekers.  Not sure if that would be policy, but the plot has to keep moving somehow.

Utah finds himself in France and in a matter of a couple of short, choppy scenes, is surfing waves in the middle of the ocean during a competition while people party and watch from an immense yacht.  The scenery and cinematography is absolutely gorgeous here, but the focus is too much on the action and for too long.  There are a couple of other skydiving and rock-climbing scenes where this takes place again.  The scenery is beautiful, but I can only look at it so long before I want story, characterization, and depth.

Back to the surfing scene in the ocean, it becomes choppy and confusing again when focusing on story because the next thing we know, Johnny is underwater, faint and clearly about to drown until we see an unknown dark angel pull him from the depths and bring him back.  There is a similar scene in the original but it is a woman, Tyler (Lori Petty), who saves Johnny.  Here, it is none other than Bodhi (played by Patrick Swayze in the original, Edgar Ramirez here) who saves Johnny’s life.  We are briefly introduced to Bodhi, who is still an ocean-washed, philosophical surfer in this remake, but played very differently by Edgar Ramirez, who, I believe, is the best part of this remake.   

The writing, as I mentioned, is not great, but Ramirez does the best job with what he is given.  There is a seriousness to his stare, an intensity in his eyes, a lovely inflection in his Venezuelan accent.  He is intelligent, grave, and confident.  I believed him as someone these men would follow, as someone anyone would be drawn to.  I just wish there had been more to his scenes to get to know him better.  Most of his lines are philosophical in nature, and short at that. 

On the flip side, Utah is not nearly as serious as he was portrayed in the original, and I think that was one thing that was lacking with him. 

Now to the love interest.  Tyler was the original.  She was tough, straightforward, didn’t buy into Bodhi’s philosophies, and believed “big wave-riding is for macho assholes with a death wish.”  In other words, she carried a logic of her own.  Here, the female is given a more exotic name of Samsara.  She hangs around Bodhi and the rest, takes part in big wave riding and with her long, flowing hair and dive from the highest part of a yacht into an ocean at night, she has an ethereal, gracefulness about her.  Johnny, of course, is immediately smitten.  What is her part in this?  Well, that’s another thing I like about this remake.  Later, after another bank heist in which most of Bodhi’s friends are killed by Johnny and his fellow agents, it is discovered that Samsara was working with Bodhi the whole time.  She not only bought into Bodhi’s philosophies, she worked with him.  She might very well have been his lover, still, but that is not something the film delves into and I wish it had.  It would have deepened her character, made her part in the robbery clearer and, I think, more appealing.  But, we will never know.

The film ends much like the original does, with Utah allowing Bodhi to surf into a magnificent storm to his death instead of facing trial for his crimes, but again, choppy dialogue and scenes that focus too much on style get in the way. 

The film had a few good points—like I said, the different take on the love interest was appealing and Edgar Ramirez is worth watching, but the intense focus on scenery and style far overshadowed what the story could have been, thereby proving that too much of something can be just that—too much.

Getting Back (or trying to get back) in the Saddle Again

Well, I knew these first few weeks of teaching, starting school, and Connor starting a new school were going to be tough, and it looks like I wasn’t wrong.  This past week has perfectly illustrated that point.  Day 1: not bad, considering it consisted mostly of a meeting, me bustling around getting decals, IDs, books, figuring out where I was going to park my car so I don’t get towed or fined, finding my classrooms, making sure my syllabi printed correctly (two typos on one—argh!), figuring out the new printer and new copier.  But, all of that worked out, just the stress (and standing out in the sun waiting to get a decal and ID) gave me a migraine for my very first face-to-face class, leaving me to gobble Ibuprofen, down coffee, and sniff my Young Living M-Grain oil until it dulled enough for me to coherently speak to a group of expectant faces about what to expect of me and my class.  Luckily enough, the Ibuprofen, coffee, and M-Grain came through and I made it through my first couple of classes.  My second went even better—I planned a good lesson consisting of watching a couple of small videos, a writing prompt and group work, and discussion—I the same for this class as I was the previous day, so I didn’t sweat it.  I probably should have.  Class started well enough (not that it can really go wrong taking roll and explaining changes to the schedule, I guess).  But then, as the students got started working on their writing assignment, I started to boot up the computer and find the videos I wanted to show, only . . . nothing was happening.  Despite continuously pressing the power button and checking the plug-ins and mentally cursing the machine, I was consistently met with a blank screen.  Nothing.  Nada.  I checked the controls.  They were locked behind a screen, but they looked on and working.  Little lights were on, anyway.  Okay.  The kids finished their work, I put them into their groups to discuss their prompts while I tried a little longer.  Ten minutes later the kids had moved on from discussing their work to chitchatting and I was no closer to booting up that machine than I was to winning the Pulitzer Prize.  Okay, so this is why I went into English instead of Computer Science.  Well, I had to accept the fact that my lesson was NOT going to go as planned.  I wouldn’t be able to show them the videos I had worked over an hour to find—and was proud of myself for finding—and started up the class discussion.  Needless to say, the trip and distraction that technology gave me that morning led to a stumble in my discussion and though it may not have been as bad as I think it was, I still verbally felt like Otis Campbell on The Andy Griffith Show, trying as best I could to find my footing while I stumbled all over creation.  I wasn’t as articulate and didn’t say some of the things I was proud of saying the day before because my mind had gotten distracted and tripped.  I felt like I’d let my students down.  Plus, I was greeted with bored looks and someone so eloquently saying “This sucks,” when I handed out the first essay assignment.  At least it ended well, with students signing up for conferences for their essay, and I determined from my department head what to do when technology fails me once again.  So, back in a positive frame of mind, I re-learned what I can and should do and I was ready for the next part of the day.  I picked up the kids, only to be told at our next stop not once, but twice, by two different people, that parking was prohibited where I'd tried to park.  Okay, now normally this would not bother me--everyone makes simple mistakes.  I smiled, apologized twice, and said I would remember that for future reference but internally, I couldn’t believe I’d made yet another error.  So, after a little stress-cry that I kept from the kids, I felt a little clearer and knew that it wasn’t just one thing, but multiple things that had added up.  I’ve taken on a lot in a short amount of time, and the things I’ve taken on are not easy and require a lot of time and energy.  And also, I’m at the beginning—in new places, with new people, new rules, and a new schedule (and new technology).  That can be daunting.  The terrain is unfamiliar right now—I don’t always see the bumps or cracks in the road, so hitting a few are inevitable.  And I will probably hit a few more, but that’s okay.  The longer I travel this new road, the more familiar and comfortable I will become.  I’ll learn (I hope!).

"While you see a chance, take it"

I’ve been away for a while (okay, a long while), and with reason.  I’ve been working on two new books, both of which I am super excited about, but I’ve also been spending a lot of time in my own thoughts.

I’ve been thinking for a long time that it’s past time for a change professionally.  I’m leaving the library I have invested twelve years of working in, taking an offer from my alma mater to teach part time and going back to school to work on Early Childhood Education Certification.  Having spent the past several years largely teaching online, getting back in front of the classroom will be a change and a challenge for sure.  But it’s something I’ve trained to do, something I worked two and half years on a Master’s Degree so I could do.  I can’t let that degree sit on the proverbial shelf anymore, especially when there is a possibility that teaching Creative Writing is in the near future—a dream class for an author such as myself.  And not to mention, I have the opportunity to work with the professor who inspired me to go into English and reignited my love of writing fiction. 

Now why would I think about going back to school to teach little kids while teaching college at the same time???  Good question.  About a year ago my husband and I were asked to substitute teach my daughter’s Sunday School class.  I was nervous, no doubt.  But I was surprised at how much fun I had, despite the hard work.  And it was that way every time I left class.  I even volunteered to teach my son’s preschool Sunday School class.  One day, a little boy came to class distraught and crying for a reason we didn’t know.  Normally, I freeze when confronted with that type of emotion, but not that day.  Somehow, I naturally went over, talked to him, gave him a hug, and before I knew it, he was joining in with the rest of the class.  Mark even complimented me on what a good job I had done.  I don’t know if it was having kids of my own that helped me in that situation, but whatever the case, I was happy knowing I helped that little boy smile and enjoy class time.  I was happy after class that day, the same as I was after substituting for each of their classes.  I’d always loved helping my kids with their homework—seeing them actually identify a circle from a square, distinguish their favorite color, carefully trace letters until they can write their names.  It never occurred to me that that was something I could do for a living.  Doing crafts, telling stories, seeing bright little smiles light up with enthusiasm with the work they accomplished taught me that teaching those little children is something I was initially volunteered to do, but it was also something I learned that I wanted to do, too. 

And life is much too short to not do something that you want to do.  I’m not getting any younger, and neither are Connor and Lydia.  They deserve, like all kids do, to grow up with a good education, a good home, and this path I’ve chosen will certainly help provide them with those. 

This wasn’t a decision I came to lightly.  I have been working at the same place, in the same position, for twelve years.  I have made friends and was comfortable—maybe a little too comfortable.  The work wasn’t challenging anymore.  I didn’t take pleasure or pride in the same day-to-day routines.   I didn’t feel like I fit in as well as I used to and that some relationships had just unfortunately waned.  I became depressed and unfulfilled by my work.  I listened to promises of promotions that I later realized were empty.  I know a lot of people go through the same exact things with their jobs and that I should be grateful to have had a job and I was.  I just wasn’t sure I was where I needed to be. 

And then that’s when it happened.  I met with a lovely woman at USC-Upstate who offered me a chance to go back and do what I realized I’d always wanted to do in the first place.  She gave me a few days to think it over, which didn’t seem like much time, but that ended up being good.  It forced me to magnify the decision then and there and really look at what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.  So, I did, and it was amazing how clear everything started to become the more I thought about it.  I took the chance she gave me and did something I should have done a long time ago, which was to end one chapter so I could begin another in my life.  I know it will be challenging, but it will certainly awaken a spirit in me that has been asleep for a while.

If I may, I think Steve Winwood put it quite well: 

Stand up in a clear blue morning 
Until you see 
What can be
Alone in a cold day dawning, 
Are you still free? 
Can you be?

And that old gray wind is blowing
And there's nothing left worth knowing
And it's time you should be going

While you see a chance, take it . . . Because it's all on you. 

A Fitting End and “Muse”ical Inspirations Part II

I’ve been away for a long while, with most of my writing energy going toward my latest novel, which, I am happy to say, I finished, and even happier to say that my publisher accepted!  I’ve spent over a year with these characters and it was only in these last few months that they really opened up and told me their story.  I like to call them my demure characters. J  Anyway, as I have finally finished, I thought I might share some of the journey and inspirations.

The idea for the novel arose when I heard “Never Tear Us Apart,” by INXS.  I was familiar with the song, of course, but hadn’t heard it in a long time and when I did again, it was like I was hearing the words for the first time.  In my mind as I heard the song, I saw two people, instantly and intensely drawn together—not love at first sight, but a connection—and then there was an outside force coming in, pulling them apart before they could properly embark on a relationship.  Nonetheless, they knew they wouldn’t be apart from each other for long.  The first eight pages came from this, as did the theme that runs throughout. 

Then, in February, I lost one of my most trusted readers, Barbara, a cousin and friend who would tell me her thoughts on my work honestly yet lovingly.  She did that with everything, and it’s something I respected her most for.  Having said that, I feel like I lost a part of my story when I lost her.  Depression can be bad for a writer (for me, anyway).  It can leave one feeling drained and numb, and thus halt creativity, and I went through a deep one when she died.  But then, a couple of months later, something happened.  I opened up this story I’d almost forgotten about, and I began reading.  And after I read what I’d first written those couple of months earlier, I automatically picked it up and started writing again, that very minute, like I hadn’t stopped at all.  I’m not sure what happened, but I like to think it was Barbara inspiring and encouraging me on with this story.  I even found myself basing a character on her. 

There is a lot of dancing in this story, though it’s not about dancers.  It’s about musicians and singers.  I’ve always been intrigued at people who work together (especially creatively) and are in a relationship as well.  And so, that is what I explored here.  But, like I said, there is dancing at two major parts of the story.  In the first part, my two characters meet and before they even say more than a few words to one another, they are drawn into a slow dance.  The song?  “Sea of Love.”  Again, I heard this one on the radio as I was writing and I took note of how the speaker asks the listener if she remembers when they first met.  Like my book, this song deals a lot with remembrance and recollections and it also addresses an instant connection between two people. 

Another song I selected is when the central character teaches her love how to dance the shag on the beach (another nod to Barbara who loved to dance the shag and loved the beach!).  There needed to be a song to go along with that, a good shagging song, and I settled on “My Girl,” by The Temptations.  Not only is a good shagging song, but it communicates what has just happened in the story.  Almost at this exact point, she has become his girl.

A song that pushed me forward when I felt a little blocked was “Mandolin Rain,” by Bruce Hornsby.  I heard it in my car one morning and again, heard the lyrics for the first time.  I became encapsulated with the speaker’s story, which Hornsby sings with just the right amount of poignancy and passion.  He has lost a woman he loves, though we don’t know exactly why.  We are only given hints in that we know she “runs away” and there was a “choice” he made that we are meant to believe led to this loss.  And as I listened to these words, I began to see parallels again in my story.  And to top it off, he describes a quiet dance the two share that closely resembled the dance my characters did near the beginning.   

The characters go through a lot of mental and emotional anguish.  Though they love one another, they hurt one another and there is no shortage of songs on that subject.  But, the ones that stayed with me and that I felt described my characters were “Silver Springs” (the live version) by Fleetwood Mac and “Hello” by Adele.  I’ve always been a fan of Fleetwood Mac and when I heard this song again, I immediately zeroed in on the truthfulness with which Stevie Nicks communicates the sentiments one feels immediately after a breakup.  Notice how she goes back and forth in her feelings (natural after a breakup) toward, as we know, is Lindsey Buckingham.  Also, the way she describes to him that he won’t forget her is lovely.  What’s even more powerful is the live version they did of this song on their album The Dance.  Watch it on Youtube if possible!

I damn near cried the first time I heard Adele’s “Hello.”  Against the backdrop of a phone call (or an almost phone call) to a former love, she confesses her regret, mistakes, and the love she still feels for him despite it all.  Her voice in the chorus is almost a lift, high and away as she is nearly filled with hope and then brought deep down when she realizes it’s too late to continue their love, but not make things right.  I heard it, and I had the last scene of my novel.

And so, there it is—the inspirations and motivations that helped me see and feel what my characters were going through.  I finished editing it last week.  And, what song did I randomly hear on the radio the day I finished editing?  You guessed it: “Never Tear Us Apart.”  A fitting end, indeed! 

Movies and Writers

I haven’t written much lately, and that is because my new book has really taken off.  I only hope it’s as good as I feel when writing it.  As I started working today, however, I happened to think about writers in movies and how they are portrayed when they write, how they appear to others, etc.  Some are not so great—frightening, even (The Shining, Misery, anyone?), but then there are others that I feel are true to a writer’s (or this writer’s at least) idiosyncrasies, habits, thoughts, personalities, and work.  And so, I started making a list in my mind of some of my favorites and why they are my favorites.  The result is the following list, a combination of two of my favorite things, writers and movies:   

As Good As It Gets

This movie always springs to mind when I think about writers.  Jack Nicholson’s characters suffers from OCD and does not relate well to people, though he appears to be a popular writer, as his publisher tells him that he does make a lot of money for them.  He lives alone, and doesn’t like to be around people a lot (save a waitress with whom he is secretly—even to him—in love).  This is something I need a lot of as a writer, but something I don’t get a lot of.  As a working mom of two small adorable kids, I don’t get a lot of alone time, and so I have to take my writing time when I can.  I work in a library, so I can do some there, but I get interrupted often and before I know it, the day is over.  Having said that, I think the scene I can most relate to in this film is when Jack Nicholson’s character is sitting in front of his computer, waiting for inspiration and viewers can tell it is just beginning to happen because the music lightens and he starts to smile, puts his fingers on the keyboard and then—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on the door!  This happens a couple of times more and Nicholson’s reaction of cursing and yanking off his glasses and throwing open the door describes my inner reaction of getting interrupted multiple times perfectly!

Something’s Gotta Give

One of the things I love about this film—I’ll just go ahead and say it—is Diane Keaton’s house.  What a gorgeous place to live and write!  But I also love the way she portrays her writer character.  She says she is ten percent talent and ninety percent hard word—yup, can totally relate.  But I also love the way the process of writing is portrayed, from her printing it out and walking around the house or beach analyzing what she’s written, walking around as she thinks before leaping back in front of her laptop to get her latest idea down, staying up all hours of the night and not realizing how late it is.  She is inspired by little things at first—things people say and do and then gradually other happenings and people in her life work to inspire her.  The result is a cathartic experience after suffering a traumatizing breakup, leading to what one character classifies as her best work yet.

The Golden Girls Episode, “Sick and Tired.”

This is one of my all-time favorite episodes from one my favorite television shows.  It is largely about Dorothy suffering through the effects of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but Blanche steals the show from the moment she announces she is going to be “a great romance novelist!”  She stays awake for three days straight writing her “great” work, only to stumble into the kitchen, ask what day it is and declare that she has “discovered a new form of writing.”  Hilarity ensues as Blanche makes Rose read her work, then discovers a bag of egg yolks on the counter, claiming she first sees “little balls of sunshine in a bag” and then “little yellow eyeballs” staring at her.  So, what is the result of all her hard work? Rose tells her it doesn’t make sense, and she gets several rejections from publishers, but it all makes for one of the funniest scenes the show ever produced!  And I appreciate that it shows how difficult writing and getting published can be.

Finding Forrester

Like As Good As It Gets, this film centers on a reclusive writer.  A young basketball player, who, it just so happens is an avid reader and writer, happens upon him one day.  Forrester lives in an apartment with little technology—not even a phone, and does most of his work on a gloriously loud typewriter.  He has his protégé do the same, demanding that he “punch the keys!”  They have a lively debate about conjunctions and learn that sometimes you only need one good line to get going on a good story.  They learn a lot more from each other about writing and life and the basketball player goes on the write the best work of his life—and will only get better, the viewer knows, because of his time with Forrester.

The Muse

Okay, writer friends, do you ever wish you could summon a muse to give you a great idea you could just go with?  You knew it would work and turn into story, novel, screenplay, etc., that you know was good?  This is the film for you if you said yes.  Albert Brooks plays a screenwriter who has been suffering from writer’s block.  He visits a successful friend who introduces him to the secret of his success—a beautiful woman by the name of Sara who agrees to inspire him but in return, bombards Brooks with demands of gifts from Tiffany’s, trips to aquariums, late-night runs food runs, and more.  She even moves into his house and kicks him and his wife out of their own bedroom so she can sleep there because she just wouldn’t feel like a real part of the family otherwise and therefore couldn’t inspire him.  Surprisingly, all of this works, and he ends up writing a great screenplay.  Funny movie—I just couldn’t see myself giving in to that much, though!

One True Thing

I have loved this movie since the first time I saw it because it is about a college instructor (of which I am) who is also a writer (of which I like to think of myself as) who has a daughter who has followed in his footsteps (which I admit, I hope my children will do).  But, I grew to love the film even more when I became a wife and mom and I’ll tell you why.  The career-driven daughter in the film must move home to take care of her ailing mother, a homemaker the daughter didn’t respect, love, or look up to the way she did her father.  But as time passes, and she does the daily work of cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc., she realizes how hard her mother has worked all those years and begins to appreciate her, as evidenced when she asks, “How do you do this, every day in this house, and no one notices?,” and then when she tells her father, “Do you have any idea what it takes to keep your life running smoothly?”  If ever a film blended being a mother, wife, and writer so well, but in different ways, I think this one would be it.

Wonder Boys

The film takes a look inside the life of Grady Tripp, a professor and writer (of one book anyway—he is over 1000 words into his next one and is nowhere near the end) over the course of a cold, February weekend in which he loses his wife and job, is an accessory to one of his students killing his boss’s dog and stealing the man’s most prized possession.  Through it all, Trip maintains a shaggy, witty, relaxation about him.  He’s older; he’s lived.  He’s a writer who sees life and is not intimidated by anything about it because of his age and his experience.  That’s not to say he’s arrogant, though.  He’s just accepting, goes with the flow when something happens, and likeable because of it.  He says many insightful and witty things in the film but my favorite quote of his is this:  “Nobody teaches a writer anything.  You tell them what you know.  You tell them to find their voice and stay with it.  You tell the ones that have it to keep at it.  You tell the ones that don’t have it to keep at it, too, because that’s the only they’re going to get to where they’re going.  Of course, it does help if you know where you want to go.”

Stand By Me

I enjoy the film’s and Richard Dreyfuss’s portrayal of the writer here because it shows the process.  It begins by showing the writer looking somberly at a tragic news article that we do not know affects him directly until we are given his childhood story in flashbacks.  Move to the end of the film and we see the man at his computer, finishing up writing the story we have just watched, but as a parent, I think what I can relate to most is when his son timidly opens the door to his dad’s office to ask if he’s ready to take him and a friend of his swimming.  Still distracted at his computer, the dad asks, “You ready?”  The son replies, “Yeah, we’ve been ready for an hour.”  The dad looks at them, laughs more at himself, and says, “Okay I’ll be right there.”  The boy’s friend says, “He said that a half hour ago!”  The son, obviously accustomed to his father’s line of work says, “Yeah, my dad’s weird.  He gets like that when he’s writing.”  I can almost envision myself and kids in that same scenario ten or so years from now.

In Dreams

“Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions
I keep my visions to myself
It's only me
Who wants to wrap around your dreams and
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness...”
~Stevie Nicks (Fleetwood Mac), “Dreams”

“Come on out of your dreams
And wake up from your reverie
Time is here, don’t go to sleep . . .
About a light year from reality”

~Beck, “Dreams”

Dreams can be an excellent source of inspiration when writing.  That’s how Stephenie Meyer received her idea for the Twilight series.  I remember waking from a dream at roughly two a.m. when I was around eighteen or nineteen and immediately going to my computer to begin typing away.  I guess I didn’t save it because I can’t remember what it was about, only that I had to get it down and see if I could go with it.  And even though I lost sleep and never used the idea, it was still time well spent.  I always say, time spent writing is never wasted time.  It keeps you practicing and sometimes we writers need to write a huge amount before we write something we actually want to use or show the world.  And, I always find the more I write, the better the work becomes.

But back to my original thought.  I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams, particularly two I had lately.  The first was rather frightening, one I have had before.  I found myself inexplicably moving through outer space.  Not in a rocket ship or anything of the sort, just moving through the darkness, nothingness—floating amongst massive planets close by and stars in the distance.  But it was frightening because there was nothing stable, nothing to hold onto, no gravity, no life force, and no one else around, just empty vastness all around—and it was immense.

Strange, I know.  Like with a lot of dreams, they seem to make sense until you try to explain them out loud or on paper.

The other dream I had, the same evening, is the first one I had about two people I loved greatly, who passed away within six months of each other: my grandmother and my cousin, Barbara (I will be talking more about Barbara in an upcoming post on characterization).  I was close to both of them and I still haven’t quite gotten over the shock of losing them both within such close proximity.  The experience of losing each was different, too: my grandmother’s was slightly expected, yet Barbara’s was completely unexpected, but they both played a role in my growth as a writer.  It was at my grandmother’s house that I learned my love of writing, and it is in that house that I set part of my new book.  Barbara was my reader.  She read my to-be published book before anyone else had, and told me that I needed to get it published right away.  At least she got to know that it was on its way before she passed on.  I just wish my grandmother had seen it, too.  It still feels a little strange knowing they won’t be able to see my future works.  I guess it hurts the most when I’ve written something I like and I think to myself, Oh, I need to email that to Barbara and then the fresh realization of oh, that’s right, I can’t, sets in yet again.  Not a good feeling.

But what was a good feeling was seeing them both for just a few moments in my dream the other night.  I know it may seem silly, but when I see loved ones who have passed on in my dreams, I like to think it is them visiting me, letting me know they’re okay.  I thought that when I dreamed of my great-grandmother and my grandfather, too.  I’m a believer in God and Heaven, so I know they’re there, and no longer in pain, and that’s about the only thing that gets me through not being able to see them, hug them, talk with them.  I think about things we used to do together, things as simple as going to the dollar store with my grandmother (an old tradition of ours) or even to her doctor’s appointments with her, or seeing that smile of Barbara’s that could light up any room, hearing her infectious laugh, talking with her about books, films, characters and storylines.

I know it may seem like I’ve gotten a little off my topic of writing and dreams.  But also, I think having the ones I had the other night illustrates the bad and the good about them: you live in them for a while, and then you wake up.  Just which is good and which is bad depends, of course, on your dream, and whether or not you let them disappear with the new day, or hold onto them depends on that as well.

As for me, even though I am filled with fresh sadness and longing to see my grandmother and cousin—my friends—again, my dream is still one I’m grateful for and glad I had.  I just hope they visit me again soon.