I was struggling to finish a story in time for a deadline. I was disparing of being able send something in when I recalled I had a free -- and finished -- manuscript that would fit the bill, so I've sent that manuscript in (3/2/17) with crossed fingers. I had one of those ambigious moments reviewing the older manuscript (corrected a typo), where I really liked the story, and it was something I wrote mostly three years ago, so I had a "gee, I used to be able to write" moment.
No gym (because I've been napping and trying to write), although I actually managed to plank while I was waiting for a computer reboot, so that's something.
The other day I had a very long dream. It started out with The Child going on a walk across the nation and ending up in Conneticuit or Maine. He walked into a school play being put on by fourth, fifth, and sixth graders. I was sort of there, sort of not, in a dream-narrator-participator way... I might have been overseeing his journey like some Greek diety overseeing a hero... anyway... I don't remember what the play was about, but The Child unrolled a kind of kite that was navy, purple, and yellow, and turned out to be a dog-sized dragon named Elliot.
There was a scene shift, and I was a wandering bohemian. Actually, there was something about an open library night, and a group of us--who all seemed to be in our early twenties--were wandering in a labyrinthine collection of rooms; each room was a different part of the Dewey system, so there was the Religions Room, and the Sculptures Room, and the Astronomy Room, (only it was the 300's room, the 600's and the 700's rooms).
The dream became more Moulin Rouge technicolor, sort of like Clue, now that I think about it, because everyone had their signature color. I was popping in and out of third-person omniscient and various characters' points-of-view.
There was a scene in a kind of common hall or study. A young woman in a white, knee-length crinoline dress sat on a red couch in a used-to-shabby room with no carpet on the hardwood floors. There were bookshevles of some dark wood.
There was more, but I should have written it down when I had the dream, because the recall is poor. A group of us--we were all twenty-something and in signature colors--decided to stage a protest and prank. It ended up me (as a purple-clad twenty-something) shooting a policeman or security guard with a shotgun (which wasn't supposed to be loaded). I had a moment where I was directing the dream from a short distance, and I muttered "Poof! And you're shot," under my breath. The actor playing the shot person took my utterance the either as an accusation about being a poof or else as being very dismissive of his dying scene. I leaned against square column in a train station like area and watched him angrily walk away (he was wearing a long rain coat, which reminds me vaguely of Sherlock Holmes).
There was another scene--I have a vague notion of being on the lam-- which ended in some kind of reality dancing show; and as the camera panned out on the judge, there was a black bar across the face of the dancer in purple, to protect his identity from the police.
There was another scene--I have a vague notion of being on the lam-- which ended in some kind of reality dancing show; and as the camera panned out on the judge, there was a black bar across the face of the dancer in purple, to protect his identity from the police.
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