Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Floofsick (floofinition) – Missing a fur friend, and thinking about them, no matter what the circumstances.
In use: “Being away from his floofjoys, M would think of them each morning, hoping they were okay, trying to think brainwaves to them to reassure them he would be returning soon.”
Mood: brisk
It’s W-2: two days before the wedding. The women have been comparing dresses and shoes for the event and talking about their hair.
Men have been complaining about how their clothes fit.
Nervous excitement is burgeoning.
It’s September 14, 2023, in the burgh of Pitts, Pennsylvania. Lovely fallish weather with a low 70s F high. Sweeet. Family visits have been fun. Instructional. We catch up on matters of health and recent experiences, with a common refrain about how conversational matter has changed through the years; we used to talk about many other matters. We still do, but the proportions have shifted. Mom looks good, better than expected from the daily text message complaints and updates she provides. My sisters and their hubbies look well, healthy, happy, but that defies some of the topics and details they go into.
My wife and I are enjoying a swell time, although sharing a bathroom demonstrates privilege and how we’ve taken for granted having two bathrooms to spread out and do our morning things. With one BR, regimenting and rationing time and functions is required. We’re used to two places, where it can all be done in parallel, without interference from the other.
For a while, The Neurons entertain me with the song “Sisters” by Irving Berlin from 1954 in the morning mental music stream (Trademark laughable). Both parts were sung by Rosemary Clooney. I know the words well because both Mom and my wife would sing that song, although I’ve never heard the two of them sing it together. It’s a terrific ditty about love and relationships.
But those those Neuron scamps brought up D. Bowie with “Changes” from 1972, because, you know, I’m driving around the old life zones from my youth around Penn Hills and Monroeville, spotting changes and differences, right?
Stay pos, be strong and brave, and keep pressing forward. I’ll try doing the same. Coffee helps me on my journey. Hope you got something that helps you, too. Okay, pressing on. Here’s the beats. Cheers
I was at a drama and writing camp. Maybe forty others were present. I didn’t know anyone else. Some of them knew one another. Ages ranged from mid-twenties to mid-sixties. Though I’m a RL 68, I’m around 40 here. It’s a rustic sort of setting.
One of the more popular people is a younger, dramatic person. A large black dog accompanies her everywhere. While we’re at one of our outdoor gatherings milling around, her dog eyes me, and then cuts through the crowd to visit with me. So does a cat. The dog’s actions surprises everyone. After a friendly visit with him, he returns to his person. The cat rolls around and is given affection.
The oldest person there comes to me with a sword. I’m not a sword expert but it reminds me of a US Civil War calvary officer saber. He points it at me at first, talking about it a while, and then presents it to me for my inspection. I’m mystified and leery by what he’s doing. It seems a little off center and nutty. He sort of brusquely pouts and asks for me to give him back his sword. Naturally, I do and he walks away. Okay, fine.
Well, sometime during the night (in the dream), I then write a long short-story about the woman with the dog and the man with the sword. I don’t know how but others come to me, explaining that they’d heard I’d written a short story. They wrote something too, and they think that we can combine the work. The woman with the dog knows about it, too, although she only knows me as the guy who dog went to. But, since her dog likes and trusts me, she wants to work with me.
So I agree, and then sit and edit, rewrite, and revise, adding more, and breaking the story up into four parts. Four us, including the women with the dog, come together to read and combine what another guy has written. They start reading it aloud, and the rest of the camp comes to listen, including the man with the sword. When he hears it, he comes to me to have his part expanded and reveals some things to me.
With the black dog and the cat beside me, I quickly revise and write more. Everyone is really pleased by the results. People are telling me, “I think you nailed it.” They want to know what else I’ve written, and are giving me other ideas for story, because they think I’d be the best person to write it.
Dream end
Michael Seidel, writer 