The Writing Moment

I was sitting on the porcelain can taking care of needed business but also reading S.A. Cosby because I like multi-tasking when a new aspect of the novel in process came in. Had nohing to do with what I was reading; my novels don’t run in the same genre as Cosby’s offerings.

But Cosby offers sharp, fresh writing and twisty plots. It awakens and stimulates the Writing Neurons. They come out and start playing. And suddenly the tale I’m working on has a new facet to be introduced. It emerged from one sentence, one word, really. And I said to myself, that’s something I should put into that scene I wrote yesterday. Then, bing, the rest flowered fast.

Such fun.

The Puzzle Dream

I thought of this as the puzzle dream but it could also be the cookie cutter dream, or the surprise flying dream.

Started, I was younger, in my early twenties, outside, part of a huge crowd of people, all about my age. They were passing out these white pieces that looked like plastic cookie cutters to me. Looking at it, I’m like, “What am I supposed to do with this?” No one close to me had any answers. Like me, they were regarding their piece with confusion.

But playing around with it, because that’s my nature, I discovered that I could make two pieces just by tugging on a side. That caused a new one to slide out while the original’s mass and structure didn’t change. Others were finding this, too. I wanted to know how many one piece could yield and soon found I had ten pieces. What the heck was I to do with them, though?

I thought the pieces were hard but since I could pull one piece out of another, I wondered if they were malleable, so I started twisted them and found, yeah, they were malleable. I could make them bigger or smaller. Someone else suggested, “Try putting them together.” I didn’t see a way at first but kept working it. Suddenly, I found that if I put two pieces edge to edge and then squeezed hard on the joined edge, they’d be one.

I rapidly began making more pieces, putting pieces together, and shaping them into something big. I had no idea what I was making. The shapes just pleased and interested me. What was boring was the color: these were all white, like, bright, refrigerator white. So tedious. I wanted to make them into another color.

A nearby female said something similar and then others spoke up, agreeing. Then a young man kind of gasped and said, “Look!” He’d changed a piece into red. We all asked, “How’d you do that?” He answered, “I don’t know.”

I started looking at mine and thinking as the others still questioned him. Holding a piece, I thought, blue, and it was immediately blue. The female who’d first mentioned the colors did the same, and we started talking about it. Then she and I and two other guys started putting pieces together from different sides, creating a four-sided thing together.

I wanted it bigger. Pulling my pieces back apart and explaining that to the rest, I asked some others to join us. We soon had a group putting pieces together on several sides, creating something big. Someone asked, “What is it?” My first thought was, “It’s a building.” Someone else said that, and another replied, “It’s a building that’s a city.”

Then I said, “No, it’s a spaceship.” I told them, “It’s a multi-generational spaceship so that we can live in space and travel to other parts of the universe.” Questions about it were asked of me and I answered, developing a greater vision of it as I did. People protested that it’s not big enough. I answered, “This is a model so that we can build the real thing after we figure it out.”

Then a man came by and told us, “Stay playing with the blocks.”

First, I didn’t think of them as blocks.

He continued, “Take this. I want you to learn out to use them.”

“Use them for what?” a woman asked.

“To fly,” the man answered.

The things he was passing out while talking were like plastic white shoelaces about ten inches long. Four of them were attached on one flat end so the strings were parallel to one another. I, like others, was skeptical. “We’re going to fly with these?”

“Yes. Twirl them over your head.” The man held up white streamer and twirled it over his head. “Just do it like that.”

I laughed, completely disbelieving of him. While others questioned him, “You twirled it and you’re not flying,” I twirled mine. They were more difficult to twirl than I expected. I kept changing my grip and trying different speeds. Suddenly I took off. As soon as I did, I stopped twirling, surprised by success, and dropped back to the ground. Others had seen and rushed over, demanding, “How did you do that?”

Dream end.

Wednesday’s Wandering Whimsies

Do you ever imagine that invisibile beings surround you, watching what you’re doing when you’re in your home alone, commenting on it to each other?

They seem to come in three flavors: aliens from space, time travelers from the future, and deceased individuals — especially family — returned as spirits. What they say and how they watch varies, depending upon which group they’re in, and their intentions.

So, for example, aliens crowd around you in the kitchen as you clean up, remarking upon the cultural significance of your routine, applauding your efficiency (or lack of it), comparing it to their own processes and habits.

No? You never have this happen?

Yeah, neither do I.

The Maybes

Burping blue smoke and violent noise, a pickup truck pulled into the line of stopped traffic.

Tan with brown accent panels and chrome wheels, the pickup truck was elderly, maybe an eighties vintage, dated as far as motor vehicles go. The right-side door – that’s where the passenger is in America – was smashed in. Broad black tape all around the door held the door shut against the body.

It looked to me like he’d been run into. I could see how another vehicle had slammed head on into the pickup truck’s side. Imagined scenarios easily rose. Maybe he ran a stop sign or red light. Then again, maybe the other vehicle ran the traffic order to stop and hit him, who was innocently motoring along.

Or, it could be the result of passion. He and his wife – or his girlfriend, boyfriend, cousin, sister, brother – argued. He fired up his truck to leave. As he was slewing the vehicle around, dust flying, the other person leaped into their vehicle and drove it into his truck, trying to stop him.

Perhaps it wasn’t passion, but a broken drug deal, or an attempted theft. Television tales and real-life reports fertilized possibilities.

Maybe, though, the driver wasn’t involved at all. Perhaps it wasn’t his truck; he was just borrowing it to move some junk.

The maybes are endless, and I’ll probably never know.

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