Escape to dreams

I learned early in life how to escape from stress, hurt, anger... the world. It was a simple yet effective coping mechanism called sleep. It amazed me that no matter how upset I was falling asleep, I always woke up feeling good again. All the tears had dried, any misgivings I had of my sister, forgiven, and any turbulence I felt from my parents fighting, relieved. Not only did it release the upsets, I also discovered my own world in which I could play freely and have amazing, albeit weird, adventures. Dreams didn't make sense, but neither did the waking world and at least in my dreams I felt content.

I began to build stories in my dreams. It got to the point where I went to bed early just so I could think out the stories I had started the night before and tried to finish them. As childhood gave away to adolescence, I let go of creating the stories in dreams to put them on paper. I used the whirlwind of emotions to paint dark poetry and the story of my childhood dreams. When life took an unexpected turn and I found myself pregnant at 16, I retreated once again to my make-believe world whenever possible. Perhaps the most stressful time in my entire life thus far and I needed that escape in ways I could never fully explain. I even read about lucid dreaming and learned to control my dreams. It was amazing to realize I was in a dream and then jump off a mountain to soar across the sky.

Fast forward to the present. I have accomplished much through the years - pulled myself out of a broken family and raised three daughters on my own, have a successful job, my own home and I'm in good health and great spirits. I no longer live to dream, but dream to live. I want to experience and touch and feel and learn as much as I can. And I want to take the passion for stories out of my head and put them on paper.

Yet, often when I try to take my stories out of my head and out of my dreams and put them on paper, I find I freeze up. I can't give them the proper words or sequence. I can lie down with it and play it out as I drift off to sleep, but on paper I often get blocked. It has been said that God is so awesome that humankind could not possibly fathom his very voice, hence we are unable to hear him. Are those stories deepest within me meant to stay buried for I fear the world could not understand them? Perhaps my childhood tendencies to entertain myself has outgrown it's boundaries. Perhaps now is a good time to find a new muse.

"Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"

~Edgar Allan Poe

Index Cards and breaking it down

I had a good time at Write-Night last night. It started with digging up an old script idea and doing a half-ass outline, but then I used index cards! There is a book called Script in 21 Days (or something like that) and one of the exercises had you use 9 index cards and gave you very specific instructions. So card one was the opening image/scene, card 2 was page 3 and by then you have your basic story question - who wants what? Card 3was by page 10 define the basic premise of the story. Card 4 puts you on page 30 and card 5 page 45 (character growth) and so on. By doing this exercise my half ass outline had developed into something more plausible and actually something I could work with! It helps that I have a great write-night partner.

Now if only I could use index cards to break down everything else in my life. Card 1 - where am I now - card 2 where do I want to be... ok, maybe life isn't that simple. Besides I spent a lot of time thinking last night (after write-night -and this morning) about what I want, really want, and I already know the answers. I think some of it is just basic, what we all want out of life, to be happy and content. I find happiness with my family and with my hobbies. I lack contentness because there is still that missing piece. I have put a lot out to faith lately and I keep talking about trusting faith and I walk the roads that lead around and around.

I want them to lead to something more but all I can do, all I can ever do, is be me. I am fortunate to have my family, friends, health, and so much more. I am mostly optimistic and I have a good heart, good intentions, and would love to one day share my journey with someone special. Until then I can at least use the index cards to plan out my make-believe stories. Real life in some ways take more effort and in some ways take less - and that's just the way it is.

To the Future!

I had a great write night this past Monday. I picked up an old story that I had "tripped up" on and worked on that. I worked on it a little on Sunday also and then again tonight. Progress is slow but I'm moving forward. It takes place in the future and that has been the barrier. I like the idea for the story and I like the main character concept - but I would start and then think, oh wait, they wouldn't be doing that in a 100 years... and then spend a lot of time pondering, researching, futurizing, and lots of other things that didn't involve writing. So now I have a mind set that I will not worry about "futurizing" at all, I will just pound out the basic story idea. No editing either. I have like over five copies of this story started with the highlights and cross outs, and changes indexed on the right. I really didn't know which was the one was the most current. So I just took one and wrote.

This is the having faith part. So I had to deal with rejection - not my lost. It was a great story and I have lots to offer so one little rejection isn't going to trip me up. In the end I know I am worth the time and effort. And I look forward to the happily ever after.

Rejection

The January issue of Writer's Digest had a short story prompt along the lines of "A magician's trick at a child's birthday party goes horribly awry as parents look on" for their Your Story contest I've mentioned before. I didn't win. I realize there was like 600 entries but still, I thought my story was pretty good. They say you have to have tough skin to be a writer and rejection is expected. So I should of just rolled up my sleeves and kept writing but instead I did sulk a little.

This was only a small contest with a story that meant nothing to me. How about if I was to send in one of my big stories that I've worked on for years and the characters are so real to me? Well, I guess I have to remind myself of the reasons I write. I write because I love creating, I write because I have these stories in my head, I write because I like to escape within my stories, I write for fun. I think I am ready to write again. :)

I did get in some more of my sitcom at last Monday's write night and I'm not sure what I will work on tomorrow but today is a good day to write and so I shall. But before I do, here is my short story entry from that contest:

Abracadabra!

“I can't believe we're doing a magic show,” Randy scoffed as he got out of the van.

“We need quick cash and we know magic tricks,” Cindy smirked.

“Cash? We have almost a million dollars waiting for us, all we have to do is get that damn diamond amulet to Mr.Biggie in Nevada. Why don't we just knock off a liquor store and go already?”

“Don't you think we have enough heat on us already? Look, this was luck, the guy needs a magician and we happen to be there.” Cindy said while fixing Randy's bow tie. “Put on your white gloves and help me with the case.”

Randy could see little heads bobbing up and down on the other side of the fence as party music mixed with little squeaky voices filled the air. His skin itched. He knew they needed the gas money.

“Hello? This is almost as heavy as that body which I had to take care of by myself. Give me a hand.”

“Shh... don't say that.” Randy glanced around. “We can't take any chances. Besides the old man wasn't supposed to be home. And I stayed behind to clean up, buying us more time. Amulet is safe right?”

“Of course,” she confirmed while adjusting her wig. “That old man was creepy. He kept muttering something even as the blood spurted out of his mouth.”

Randy righted the case on its wheels while recalling that final moment before the tire iron smashed against the old man's skull. “He was saying that karma would be his revenge...” Randy drifted. “Whatever. Let's get this over with.”

“Show time,” Cindy shrugged.

As soon as the parents showed them the stage, the children started to gather around. “Hey, hey you, can you cut my sister in half?”

“Children, have a seat and I will tell you a story as my lovely assistant sets up the disappearing cabinet! I am Fabian The Fabulous!” he announced while enticing the children with a few hand tricks. The children laughed as a torn dollar bill was found in one child's shoe. He mesmerized them with endless colored scarves and juggling balls. He used a deck of cards to tell a story of a lonely queen who lost her king and the journey she went on to find him. When the story ended he threw the cards in the air and they appeared to burst into flames, yet the birthday girl found both the queen and king in a randomly selected birthday card. The parents clapped; the children laughed.

Fabian looked out amongst the children. It was an old routine but he felt nervous.

“Hey we want to see the disappearing trick,” a child dared.

Randy was about to respond when a familiar old man in the crowd smiled at him -blood trickled in the corner of the mouth. Randy blinked and then the old man was gone. Randy froze.

By now a few of the kids were chanting, “disappearing trick!”

“What the hell was that?” Cindy asked under her breath as she walked toward the cabinet.

Randy didn't look at her. “Never mind. Let's finish and get out of here.”

Cindy turned back to the crowd. “Fabian the Fabulous will now do his disappearing trick! Do you guys think he can make me disappear into thin air?”

“No way!” The children challenged.

Fabian turned the cabinet around demonstrating the back was solid. Once Cindy was inside he used his wand and recited magical words. He opened the door to reveal nothing inside. Everyone clapped.

This relaxed him and he went on to do a couple silly goofs like opening the door to a rabbit and then some doves. The audience seemed to love it -almost done, he thought.

“Now I must bring back my lovely assistant. Can you help me with the magic words? They are very simple - abracadabra.” He waved his wand and the children yelled out “abracadabra!”

Proudly he stepped back to open the cabinet and waited for the applause. Instead gasps were heard as an old man fell out in a mangled bloody pile. Randy rubbed his eyes. Women and children were screaming. Cindy was missing. In her place was the old man with blood stain lips looking up at him with empty eyes.