Tag: success

The Writing Moment

It’s just one of those days, unpredictable to me, when the writing effort gains sharper clarity and focus. I think the bottom line is that after weeks of thinking and writing and editing and revising, my understanding of the story as originally written crystallized and is now much higher. This feeds to greater focus and concentration, because I’m more certain about where I’m going. Which then generates greater writing energy and enthusiasm, pressing me to keep writing and editing, keep going, keep going.

But, writer’s butt is setting in. The cheeks are compaining about the chair’s hard surface. And though I’d go on, my stomach is querying, “Hey, are we going to eat anytime soon? Very hungry here. Hello? Anyone feel me?”

And my brain is harping, “You need to run errands. Go shopping and get needed supplies for yourself, the house, the wife, and the cats, and add gas to the car because it’s almost on empty.”

Moments like this are always bittersweet. So much was accomplished, leaving me feeling joyous over my progress. But I must stop. There will be other days. Some will be like a slog through knee deep mud, but there will be others like this, when I feel like I’m soaring.

In the muses we must trust, amen.

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Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

Meeting my sisters again, I reflected on happiness and success. Each sister has demonstrated at one time or another that they seemed supremely happy and successful only to have disaster, devastation, upheaval, foisted on them, forcing them to begin again. It’s always a journey. You can find and lose it all repeatedly. Learning to keep your balance as it swirls around you remains key to me.

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A Pair of Dreams

I begin in off-white thermal underwear. I dance through town, this place in which I RL live. Early spring is in effect. I leap and pirouette, twirl and bow.

An artist brush is in my hand. I flicked colors at things, dipping my brush in the colors already available, making everything bolder, brighter, sharper. Although it goes on for a while, that’s all to the dream.

It’s a younger version of me, a hybrid between my teenage self and my middle-aged individual. I smile thoughout the dream.

I land in another dream. I’m with another man. We’re in blue hospital scrubs. I know, I’m a med tech. We’re in a small city. Situated on several hills, a bay embraces the land. It’s a busy place, full of hurrying traffic, vehicular and on-foot.

A hue rises from a hospital on the hill. One of my peers shouts, “It’s a success.”

I am jealous. I wanted to be part of that. I feel cheated.

But I congratulate him and the rest and spread the news of the success. It was an arduous and dangerous operation but the patient was doing well. We were pleased. We’d helped develop catheters which saved the patient. This was their first use.

A surgeon came, gloved and masked. “They worked well,” he said. “They want some at the other facility.”

“I’ll take them,” I declare, picking up a brown box of them.

The surgeon says, “They need to be cut, shorter, and narrower.”

“I’ll do that,” I reply.

I begin walking. Balancing the box, I employ a scalpel and start precisely cutting the pale white catheters. My peer follows, saying, “Let me do something. You can’t carry the box and cut the catheters.”

But I am, continuing as we weave our way through crowds.

“The catheters are bleeding,” the other tech says.

I nod. “That’s normal. These are partly organic. That’s why they work.”

End dreams.

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A Dad Dream

I was at some wildly busy location, flitting between meeting people, attending parties, eating foods — especially desserts — and working on some new business.

I’d arrived there via a large, black and shiny car provided by my father. The car was luxurious, expensive, and impressive. After hunting for a parking space, I double-parked on the street because I was late. Promising myself to come back soon to move the car because I might be blocking another in, I rushed into the complex. Piles of food were on tables, and I was urged to eat. I did eat some finger food, and a small bit of dessert, just to be nice, I told them, all of us laughing. The food was fantastic, so I had a little more and then went on to meet with others.

I encountered Dad. He was involved in some new business venture. To support his business plan, he’d developed a table of projected aggregate growth and had me look it over. I did, then went to meet with his potential backers.

The backers’ side, people who were going to fund Dad’s business, included my mentor. The mentor — never actually seen in the dream but heard from via others — had worked up numbers for Dad’s new business, too. The numbers between the two camps were grossly different. The two sides used me as an intermediary to bridge the differences. I mostly dealt with Dad, telling him again and again that my mentor thought Dad’s numbers were overly optimistic. We argued the venture’s fine points. I wanted to see his business plan but piqued, he refused to show me. He wouldn’t even tell me what the business was about, annoying me.

I went back to the mentor and spoke to an assistant, explaining Dad’s logic, defending it, really, and then asked to see their plans and projections. They wouldn’t let me have them and sent me back to Dad.

I returned to my car to move it, but there still wasn’t anywhere else to put it. I needed to leave it there, which worried me, but another person, a stranger to me, assured me it was fine and not to worry about it. I put the car out of mind.

I went back to Dad. He and my mentor were going to meet later. Dad told me to check into my room, clean up and rest so that I could join them later.

I went outside to a huge round bricked plaza. Great crowds of people prowled and socialized there because some convention was going on. Finding the front desk, I was given my room key. It was round, with concentric wheels of numbers on it. Each wheel of numbers told me where I was to go to find my room, starting with the outer wheel. The numbers were all in gold but used different fonts. As I looked at the wheel, a smiling man sitting in a chair, holding a drink, legs crossed, told me that the outer wheel’s numbers referred to the stairs to use. He then explained in an aside to a woman sitting beside him that the keys often confused newcomers.

But I knew how to use the key and told him. The outer gold letters were 4-2. I went off and found the stairs labeled 4-2. Before I went up to my room, though, Dad came and gave me his business plan to look over. Sitting down, I discovered that he’d hugely scaled it down from what he’d told me. It seemed like a completely different idea from what he’d explained, too. This had to do with some kind of ice cream confectionary shop that served other food with the ice cream. They were going to start with twenty shops in seven locations.

The changes dismayed me. I warned him that competition already existed doing what he proposed, and that his plan wasn’t as unique or revolutionary as he seemed to think. He was unfazed because the mentor had told him it was a good idea, and they were going to proceed. I was summoned to go eat, so I left it at that and went to find my table.

Dream end.

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