Tag: book

Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

I enjoy people watching, especially at the coffee shop. Everyone has a story. It’s not always clear, so I’ll make one up for them, if they’re interesting enough.

Well, Austin is interesting enough. About six foot one, pale skin, moderate build, neat strawberry blond hair, he’s dressed for the outdoors and carries a full pack, a serious hiking and camping pack, white ear pods inserted. First time I saw him in April, I figured that he was another off the Pacific Crest Trail. It runs through this area and many hiking it will pop into Ashland. See the movie Wild or read the book by the same name, and you’ll see my town featured. That’s our plaza in the link I posted.

(Side note to all that: the city posted where they’d be filming the movie so we could avoid the area because of road closures and delays, and all that. You know what that did, right? Also, to have the right season depicted, the leaves had already departed the trees, so they made leaves, attached them to the naked branches, and then removed them after filming.)

Well, Austin remains here months later. I’ve wondered why. He comes into the coffee shop several times a day while I’m there. He’d usually just drink cold water. Sometimes hot tea. Rarely buys more. I’ve seen people offer him money, and he always turns it down. He only speaks to the baristas, which is how I know his name. He’s told me thank you as I was leaving and he was entering and I held the door. Thrice. That’s it.

I sense he wants to be alone, so I leave him alone. Also, I’m there to write, so I don’t want to strike up conversations. I initially thought he was just recharging his batteries. Then, waiting for something to arrive in the mail. Now I think he’s on the run, and hiding out in Ashlandia. The question is, why? Who is after him? What will happen when they find him?

Whatever, he’ll probably show up in a story sometime. That’s just how it goes when you cross a writer’s path.

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The Writing Moment

He and the muses were kicking around what to do at this juncture in the novel. Four hundred pages in, it’s a critical point. Lot of reveals to be brought to the story. He needs to get it done but doesn’t want to rush or force it. He’s mindful, too, yeah, this is the first draft. He’s still learning the story. Don’t overthink things.

He ended up spending time over the last four days editing and revising, working his way through the first two hundred pages while his mind dances with approaches to what comes next. Trust yourself, he urges himself. Don’t get cocky, he reminds himself, but also don’t get depressed, and don’t fail into a trap of overanalyzing what you’re doing. Write what you want to read.

He really enjoyed most of the story but then, he felt severe disappointment with one stretch. Why, that’s absolute crap, he told himself. It was not what he wanted to read. He wouldn’t read it. It needed to be treated like a deep infection.

That understanding came but also fertilized recognition that a new approach was needed for this aspect. Weirdly, he felt optimistic that he had a grip on it.

Or maybe not weirdly. He’s a writer, and that’s what they do, always believing, I got this.

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The Book Sales Dream

I was a young man, collecting and selling information on other people and on events. It started with two young women bemoaning the inability to learn something. I told them that I could do it. Then I did.

When I went around collecting information, it ended up taking the form of a thick hardback book. I showed them the book and then told them I’d sell it to the highest bidder. They were taken back — they’re the ones who suggested the information was needed, according to them — and thought I should just give them the book. I disagreed and said that wasn’t going to happen.

Rain started falling. I decided I needed a safe hideout. I found one side of a wooden crate leaning against a hillside. Pulling it aside, I saw a hole. I crawled through and found myself in a small living space. It was where I’d been living, I realized.

It stopped raining, so I left, taking my book with me. I went around, showing others and generating interest in it. People began offering me money. I wasn’t ready to sell.

My father appeared on the scene, telling me that I had to go to court. I wasn’t bothered by that, I would go to court and win. Dad was walking through a creek at that point. The water was low, just covering his feet, but muddy. The original two women were with him. I was back in a military uniform, following Dad. Note that in RL, he’d had a twenty-year career in the military, then I’d done the same.

I realized that I didn’t have a military hat, that I was outside and ‘uncovered’. That’s against reg and disturbed me. I asked Dad if he had a cap I could wear. He didn’t hear me, and I repeated the question several times before he said, “No,” and then told me that I didn’t need one.

Rain began falling anew. The two women started looking for cover and saw the opening to my place because I’d left my protective cover off. I didn’t want them to go in there. They were going enter but decided that it was too small. I then changed my mind and invite them in. I went in first, and then invited them in and showed them how large my space was. They agreed and then made me an offer on the book of data. It was a very large offer and made me grin in delight.

Dream end

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An Instruction Dream

This dream featured Mila Kunis and included my SIL, along with a cost of fifty more strangers.

I was sitting in a terminal. Don’t know what means of transportation, only that I was on a journey and waiting to start the next leg. Beside me, one empty seat removed, is Mila Kunis. She’s on the same trip. She is talking about where she’s been and where she’s going, answering questions for people. I’m listening but not paying deep attention to her.

We’ve been given a package. Included in that package is a small, tattered book. Small, about 1/2 inch thick, four inches by three inches. Black or dark blue or green. The cover color might be different for other people in the group. I’ve seen some with red, brown, and tan, but I’m not certain that they have the same book. I’ve opened my book. The pages are very thin. There are symbols inside. The symbols look like hieroglyphics in faded black ink. Bird, eyes, pyramids. I begin working my way through the symbols because I think they’re important to learn. I’m soon starting to read other material and interpret it by using the symbols.

My SIL comes up. We’re surprised and pleased to see one another. She’s traveling, too. We’re going to the same place. Asked me what I’m doing with the book. She’s noticed it but I’m the only one in the group with it open. I explain what I’m doing and what I’ve learned so far. She tells me that’s a great idea, that she wants to do that, too, can I help her get started? I agree, and I start reading things to her, explaining the symbols and their relationships. Mila Kunis joins us to learn, too.

We’re all then called to move to another section. When I go there, I realize that I’ve seen the new place. They’re part of the symbols. I realize, too, that for us to move forward as planned, we need as a group to be arranged differently. I mention these things to SIL and Mila. SIL calls that out to the travel leader. The leader doesn’t know about it but he believes me. He wants me to arrange everyone as they should be.

I give instructions. Everyone has a chair. They need to be in one straight line at a specific place. I tell them to do this. When we finish, another group arrives and then ‘takes off’. The group I’m in wants to know why they went first. I explain, “Because their line was straight. We’re not aligned.” I’m looking along the line of chairs. It’s a tiled floor. With the tile pattern, it’s very easy to see that we’re not aligned.

I explain that to everyone. “Look at where you’re sitting. Look at the line on the tile. We need to be in a straight line. You should all be aligned on the same line of tile.” I walk along, repeating this, pointing it out to people, encouraging them to move and fix the line. They finish doing that. We’re ready to take off.

I turn to wait. I’m the only one standing but that, it seems from my reading, is right. While I’m waiting, I resume studying the book.

Dream end.

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Three Parts of Cilia: A Dream

Cilia is a friend. Retired from one profession, she’s now a professor and department head at a local university. I know her through my wife. She’s mostly her friend.

First, there was Cilia and the book. I was outside with a group, walking on a sidewalk downtown, when I encountered Cilia. She had a book. Tremendously old and maroon, with one of those warped cloth covers with its title in faded gold print, it was about almost four inches thick and six inches square. I’d heard of this old book. When she showed it to me, I asked with delight, “May I see it?” After she passed it over, I opened the book. The pages inside were very thin. Many were separated from the spine and loose. But there were also metal toys embedded in the book: a steam train engine, car, artillery piece, truck, along with others that I can’t remember. These simple pieces were painted with silver, black, red, green, and yellow enamel paint.

As everyone was looking at it, talking, they tried to turn pages or touch the toys. These was causing the book to come apart, forcing me to tell everyone to be careful before finally ordering everyone to stop touching it. As I returned things to their places and carefully closed the book to hand it to Cilia, noticed she seemed very upset. As I apologized, she departed, tight-lipped.

In the second dream with Cilia, I stopped by her house. She and her husband had friends over for dinner. I didn’t want to impose so I began to leave. Her husband came out and gave me a huge steak, telling me that it was extra, and since I was already there, I might as well have it. I sat down out in the living room and ate it with my hands as the rest continued eating in the dining room. I could hear parts of their conversation but nothing really concerning me. The huge steak was fantastic, cooked just right. As I finished it, eating aroun fatty parts, Cilia came out to ask me if I wanted to take the steak with me if I couldn’t finish it, then was surprised that it was already gone.

The third part of my Cilia dream had Cilia coming out as gay. She had a female partner in addition to her male husband. I was really surprised. Beyond that, she had striking green eye shadow on, very contrary to her usual reserved appearance, with a matching green shirt, with her hair cut in a Dorothy Hamil wedge, and dark red, both quite different from her actual appearance.

We were in her house. A dozen others were there, all women. I was the only male. The gathering had broken into smaller groups. People were talking about math or literature. A woman to my right was asking questions about sines and cosines. Someone noticed a painted ceramic plate hanging on the wall. The plate had four handles. I said, “Is that a volksmarching award?” Rising, I went over and confirmed, yes, it had the usual markings of a volksmarch on it, as Cilia confirmed that she used to volksmarch. I did, too, I told her.

Someone took the plate off the wall to look at it. One handle broke off. As I took the plate from that woman, along with the handle, I told Cilia, “Oh, no, your plate broke.” As I was speaking, a second handle broke off. While we reacted to that, the third handle dropped off. I said, “Cilia, the handles fell off your plate. We can probably glue them back on, but there’s only one left.” Then the fourth fell off in my hand, breaking into two pieces. As I gawked at that, I said, “Never mind. That one broke, too.”

Per the plan, we then left the house to go have something to eat. Then, like a play whose acts had changed, we were returning. Although I’d had a good time, I felt it was time to leave. Cilia though, presented me with two small glasses, declaring, “An aperitif for you, Michael.” It was pale green. I took the glasses, questioning, “Two?” As she replied, “Yes,” I asked, “Aren’t aperitifs served before the meal?” But I drank them, then prepared to take my leave. First, though, I’d apparently borrowed a light brown leather belt from her with a metal tip. I took that off to give to her. Then, also, I’d borrowed a matching light brown leather jacket from her which I’d been wearing.

That’s where the Cilia dreams ended.

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