Author: Michael Seidel

Science fiction, fantasy, and mystery writer. Singer (sorry, no shows) & nudist (in my home). Beer, cat, cheese, coffee, pie and wine friend. Left IBM and Silicon Valley for the southern Oregon life but I miss the ocean. We're too far inland. Gotta move.

Fun, Fun, Fun

My writing sessions continue as entertaining and productive sessions. The book in progress is booking along (sorry for the pun — no, I’m not) as the characters grow and the story expands.

Didn’t go to the Boulevard today (see yesterday’s post, “Unbelievable”. As recap, Allison’s father, who owns the property, had Allison and her husband (Josh) managing the property for him, and fired them yesterday (Merry Christmas!). Baristas walked out in solidarity, and I went, too. Yeah, I know, I don’t know all of the story; I’ve witnessed how hard Allison and Josh work, though.

Anyway, had to find a new writing spot today. The first was too crowded. I made the second work. I’m at a breakfast bar on a high stool. Not comfortable. I alternate between standing and sitting, but the writing must be done. I’m thankful that our small town (population less than twenty thousand) has about ten coffee houses (which is down from when we first moved here, and two of them are Starbucks, which is a last resort).

Best, the muses didn’t care where I was. (“What? You’re not at the Boulevard? Well, screw you, mister,” they didn’t say.) They crowded in and began their thing before I’d taken off my coat.

I have ten main characters. I don’t know who the final primary protagonist will be. Several candidates are slugging it out. Meanwhile, each character apparently has their own muse. So, today, when settling in to write, these muses were all clamoring for me to write ‘their’ character’s story.

That’s what writing like crazy is all about — getting it down without prejudice, sorting it out as needed later, and editing and revising to improve it sanity — I mean, flow — and story-telling.

Good day of writing like crazy. Off to the movies now, to see Knives Out. I’ve been looking forward to it, and today is five dollar Tuesday.

Hard to beat that.

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Parafloofx

Parafloofx (floofinition) – 1. A pair of animals, i.e., floof. A parafloofx is worth two in the bush. 2. An animal having seemingly contradictory qualities or phases.

In use: “As many people who shared a house with cats learned, they were often parafloofxes, presenting their bellies for a little sweet lovin’, purring away before suddenly activating bite and claw mode.”

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

As I settled down to sleep last night, I found that sleep was coming fast, like I’d opened a door and invited the sandman in. That brought forth amusing memories of Mom talking to me about the sandman when I was a little boy. She also used to sing “Mr Sandman” to me. But after all that thinking and remembering, the Metallica song, “Enter Sandman” (1991) crashed in.

A much different and intense song, I always enjoy its beginning. Then there’s the lyrics:

Sleep with one eye open
Gripping your pillow tight

Exit: light
Enter: night
Take my hand
We’re off to never never land

h/t to Metrolyrics.com

 

2

Unbelievable

The owner of the cafe and hotel (who is related to the manager) where Boulevard Cofffee is located just walked in and fired them (Josh and Allison). The workers are walking out in protest.

They told me, so that I’d be aware of what’d happened. I feel that I have no choice but to respect their walkout and protest. It’s deplorable that Josh and Allison are treated this way. I’ve seen how hard they work here, managing the Boulevard Coffee and the Stratford Inn, and how much energy they invest.

So, shutting down the writing for the day. Need to find a new place to write.

Some matters are more important than others.

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Floofcotheque

Floofcotheque (floofinition) – A floofclub for dancing, often featuring sophisticated quantum systems, elaborate lighting, and other effects.

In use: “Each night, the cats hurried to the door at exactly the same time, demanding to leave, prompting Pam to joke, “Hot date,” without realizing that the kitties were hurrying to the floofcotheque to dance to the Backyard Dogs.”

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Monday’s Theme Music

“There is freedom within, there is freedom without…”

As I was thinking about my dreams this morning — there’s been a staggering dream surge in the past two weeks — those lyrics from the song by Crowded House, “Don’t Dream It’s Over” (1986), entered my thinking stream.

The song was released at a busy time for me. I was in the military, stationed in South Carolina. I’d traveled a lot that year and the previous year – Egypt, Somalia, Delaware, Florida (multiple times). I’d been assigned to South Carolina (Shaw AFB) in the previous year (1985) after four years in Japan, at Kadena (Okinawa). Then, suddenly, in October, I had notification of a new assignment, for three years in Germany, reporting in December.

Thinking of the dreams and the song just brought all of that surging out of me. Lot of places, lot of flights, a lot of faces, a lot of time away from home and my wife. Since then, I retired from the military (1995) in California and moved to Oregon, worked in start-ups, and then with IBM for fifteen years. It was a chaotic life, but seemed normal.

“Hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over. Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in.
They come, they come to build a wall between us. You know they won’t win.”

Yes, but sometimes it feels like an uphill fight to get to where you want to be. Does the battle ever end? I supposed I could simply stop fighting and accept whatever will be.

Yeah, I know, more first world whining. I’ve had more options, freedom, and success than many ever find.  I made those decisions and choices. I wouldn’t change it. It brought me to where I am, for better, for worse.

And it’s not over.

 

 

 

 

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The Drawing Dream

The dream began in my high school library. My tenth grade English teacher told us that we were to draw a scene from the library. I announced that I was going to draw something with the Daleks.

That really pleased her. With others watching, I quickly sketched a scene of one of the tables surrounded by book cases, and then drew in two Daleks. The teacher disliked the empty table. She wanted me to put a student in it. I finally relented and drew in one of my classmates. She was embarrassed to be selected, but I shrugged that off.

I added more details, shadows, and textures. The other students watched. The teacher had to leave. I stayed there, with others watching. Other students sat down and drew beside me. Some wanted to copy my drawing. Others wanted me to change my drawing. I wouldn’t.

I was stymied, though; I couldn’t think of a punchline.

That’s how the dream ended.

4

Persistent Assistant

A persistent assistant

and ever-present friend

he’s with me wherever I’m at

it’s an established trend

 

In the bed

on the pot

across the street

by the vacant lot

 

On the chair

when I read

by the table

when I feed

 

He needs to know

what I’m doing

and watches around corners

(I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling)

 

Wherever I go

he is there

as if my being

is his only care

 

But once in a while

I spy on him as he’s sleeping

watching him move paws and whiskers

wondering, what’s he dreaming?

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