Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Infloofsive (catfinition) – when people include their pet in their activities.
In use: “Wade was infloofsive with Bella, taking the Corgi everywhere, even riding around town on his motorcycle with Bella on the gas tank, although he limited that to short trips.”
Imfloofceptible (floofinition) – an animal not perceptible by a sense or by the mind
In use: “Imfloofceptible, her cat was probably in the house, but remained hidden after she came home each day until she either went into the bathroom or opened something to eat. Then, suddenly, amazingly, the cat was at her feet, meowing, “Hello. Good to see you.””
I received an email from Acorn online today. They were touting a hot new show, something called “Mannix”.
After a double-take and then a reread, I pondered, is this a joke? No, so maybe “Mannix” had been rebooted, the latest marketing term for when an old show is made new again.
To duckduckgo I went. I couldn’t find anything on a “Mannix” reboot (although I did think about who could replace Mike Connors, and since we’re re-booting it, wouldn’t it be fun to have a middle-aged black woman as the tough, smart P.I., and then thought, I would love to see Simone Missick in that role) so I went back to the email for more information.
I learned it was the original “Mannix” that’s the hot new show. All of this was a bit depressing because the old is being made new again. Even if you’re basing it on an old series, why not come up with something new and call it something new?
I know, these are sour old man thoughts. The masses who haven’t seen “Mannix”, can’t remember it, or are comfortable with remakes and reboots are shrugging at me and urging me to return to under the rock or get back on my meds. This is our life and how we live, baby, by taking old things and making them new and pretending that we have progress.
In the first dream, I was somewhere taking a test with others. We’d been together taking classes for a few days, so they were familiar, but they’re not anyone I know from life. All were male, but of various ages, physical builds, and races. Cluttered but comfortable, the classroom seemed like something from a form follows function design school. It had desks, windows, pale green walls, grey tile floors, and fluorescent lights.
The mood struck me as relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t feel any pressure or tension. Mustached and wearing glasses, the teacher was a short, white, overweight bald man in a white shirt and black suit with a black tie. He was a bit jocular.
For some reason, I began the test, was distracted, and came back to discover it was almost over. Although not distraught, I didn’t want to fail, but it seemed my fate was inexorable. Then I learned from watching another student that the test could be modified and administered orally. Hearing that, I pressed to have that done. I was confident in my knowledge and knew I could pass.
The administrator, a tall, white woman with blond hair in a bun, came in. She and the teacher discussed the option. It was agreed that would work for me. The oral test, of three questions, was given, and I passed in time to leave with the others.
The rest were in another room. They cheered me when I entered. Some joking followed, along with travel-plan conversations. They’d already eaten, but when they realized that I hadn’t, several got together to find me some food. I was telling them, “No, I don’t have time, I need to leave,” as I was putting up my coat. They brought me bags of food. I realized it was from McDonald’s. That amused me because it’s been over a decade since I’ve eaten at a McDonald’s.
They were excited to be leaving and eager to be home soon. One asked when I’d get home. I told them that I had to fly across the country, and that I’d be traveling for twelve to fourteen hours. Even as I answered, I reconsidered my response because I knew that weather delays were lurking.
The dream ended, and the next one began.
I was at a swimming pool. A few others were there. Again, these weren’t familiars from my life but people that I’d just met. I decided to use the diving board. After climbing up, I dove in. It was a decent dive but I felt dissatisfied, thinking, I can do better. So I went up again.
I began to dive, and then tried to reconsider, but it was too late. My last minute indecision affected my form. It was off as I dove this time. I didn’t have time to bring my arms together, and my body was falling over as I hit the water.
I knew it hadn’t been a good dive. What amazed me though, was how deep I’d gone. I couldn’t see because of bubbles surrounding me, but when I swam toward the surface, it took so long that I wondered if I’d ever reach it.
Breaking the surface, I looked around. The others were still swimming about. I waited for someone to say something about my horrible dive, but no one said anything. I waited for someone to mention how long I’d been under, but nobody said anything. Nobody had seemed to notice anything, or maybe there wasn’t anything to notice.
With those thoughts, and with me paddling around the pool toward the side to get out, the dream ended.
4:30 A.M.
A cat’s activities brought me awake. As I tended him and then used the restroom, this song was streaming through my thoughts:
“Gypsies, tramps, and thieves, we’d hear it from the people of the town, they’d call us, gypsies, tramps, and thieves, but every night, the men would come around, and lay their money down.”
I don’t know why I was streaming Cher’s 1971 hit, “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves”. I was dreaming, and I remember the dreams. There wasn’t a sound track, just conversations.
Was it something that the cat did? Don’t know. It sure doesn’t seem like dream music.
“It’s romantic in the park at dusk with the street lights on, isn’t it?” he said.
She said, “You want to go spooning?”
“No, the only spooning I want to do is with my ice cream.”
I’m nervous as I’m editing this second book in the Incomplete States series. The series’ first book, Four On Kyrios, was straightforward for the most part. This book, Entangled LEREs, is well-named, with entangled stories and characters. It reminds me of Slaughterhouse Five meets The Sound and the Fury, Cloud Atlas, and Lincoln in the Bardo. Editing becomes intense for me. I imagine readers asking themselves and the book, “What’s going on? I don’t understand.” Makes me want to revise it to make it clearer and more linear.
The muses push back against that impulse and insist that I don’t change anything. And there it goes, I’m cringing and sweating, thinking, what am I doing? “Trust us,” the muses urge. In response, I hold my head and rub my forehead and temples, and think, pitting desire to change things against the muses’ directives.
The muses remind me, “You’re in the middle of the series. Don’t make any major changes until you’ve gone through all four books.” Right, because the mud settles later, and it all becomes clearer. These are mysteries in mysteries, all part of the concept and story. Yes, I remember writing these chapters and battling the muses about it back then.
Man, it makes me nervous, though. My jaw hurts from gritting my teeth. Should a writer have such a love/hate relationship with their muses and the novel in progress? I remind myself that I was going all in, that, yes, I knew when I was writing it that it would be way out there. I remember those battles with myself from back then. I hope readers can get through it and find the effort rewarding. Even as I nurture that hope, I remind myself, I write for myself. I’m my only guaranteed audience.
I think it’s time to call it a day.
Defloofinate (floofinition) – to relax and de-stress by spending time with a pet.
In use: “After an hour of rush hour traffic, he entered the house, threw down his keys, kicked off his shoes, and defloofinated with his dog’s head on his lap.”
Michael Seidel, writer 