Yesterday had a nice element of fun to it. I’m gearing up for National Novel Writing Month and a fellow writer who tried it last year is going to give it a shot against this year, and so she was bouncing ideas from her story off me and I was bouncing things back at her. I love doing that; I like the give and take that comes from hearing an idea and then coming up with your own that might complement theirs, and then how they take that next idea and make it into something else . . . creativity: there’s nothing like it.
While we were doing that I was also helping them with getting the noted they needed for their story set up in Scrivener, my favorite writing friend (next to Trusty Editortm, that is). The public beta is going live the end of October, by the way, and getting it is going to be the best $40 you can spend if you’re a writer, but that’s besides the point . . . my writer friend was going through the paces with it, and likes the interface, but then they’ve used it a few times before and they sort of know their way around. Still, I love helping people out, particularly when it comes to writing.
My own NaNo novel is pretty much finished as far as the world building is concerned. I know I’m probably forgetting something important (in fact, thinking about this right now I know I am), but I still have 20 or so days to get this thing to the point where all I have to do is write and not worry about some little niggling thing like is Milwalkee a part of my supercity (it is) and if it’s important enough to worry about in the story (it isn’t, so Hey Der, Ho Der, Ya Hey Hey). I’m doing time lines on one of my main characters, which really isn’t all that consuming since I’m not doing every event in her long life, but there’s enough there that as I fill it out for all the other books I’m going to write in these series I’ll keep adding to it as I go along.
I just realize the big thing I need to square away is how magic really works–I know I have the building blocks there for what is needed to pull it off–but I really need to put in something about foci. Yes, it exists. Yes, you can use it. Yes, it does bad-ass things for the right person, ’cause in one of my first scenes I have someone getting hit in the face with a whip being used as a magic foci and their face imploded. Rock me, baby!
At least I have a very good vision for the main character’s outfit. Yes, it’s gonna come across very fetish-like, but there are very good reasons for this. Most of the look comes care of Dr. Helen Magnus, who wrote the book What The Best Dressed Woman Wears When Kicking Ass, and I thank her profusely.
Oh, and I fired off the last completed scene for my little erotic story I’m doing to Trusty Editortm and got a very good reaction. So far in 4 main scenes I have just a hair under 9,000 words completed, and with then coda I’m thinking it’s going to top out at a neat 10,000. Then I’ll probably do a quick format on it and upload it to Smashwords (where you can find my latest masterpiece, Kuntilanak) and offer it up for the low price of $0.99. A steal for a some very sensual, sexy, somewhat intense erotica.
And with that I was off to bed . . . and off into my dreams.
Something to note here: for a while my dreams haven’t been all that great. Sure, every so often I’ll have a very short, very nice dream come to me that leaves me going “Hummmm” in the morning–and yes, I’ve had a few in the last month or so–but for the most part I can’t even remember the damn things. And it’s a bummer, because for a while I had the most vivid, lucid dreams you could imagine, and it was a great thing to have one and then remember all of it the next morning. Yes, they would be strange and wonderful, and they’d sometimes leave me wondering just what the hell was going on inside my head.
But last night . . . jeez, it seemed like I had a ton of crap heading my way and for no reason.
For some reason it started out with someone I used to game with calling me from across the street, and explaining to me that a ’72 Buick convertible filled with insanely hot early 20-something women seemed to have lost its brakes, and what was I going to do to fix it, and like right now? For some reason I was getting majorly bitched out over this, and it was driving me crazy.
Then there was a minor interlude which I will get to in a moment . . . but this was a lead-in to the following, which consisted of me running from a demonic smiley face. Yeah, you got it. It was something like a smiley face that would follow me around, and it would get closer and closer until all that would fill my vision would be this single black eye . . . and then I’d heard this low, frightening growl. This happened three times, and the third time I woke up, my head shaking, my breath starting to slow.
I was one of those clear, cool nights last night, and I don’t know the time, but I sat up and looked around the empty bedroom and thought about why I was having dreams like that, and eventually drifted back into something like a state of semi-sleep until the sun came up and I got out of bed once more and hopped onto this computer.
I hate freaky ass nightmares. I hate how they never make sense, how there serve no other purpose save to scare the shit out of you and wake up you panting and sometimes shaking, and leaving you wondering why the hell bad things are happening to you.
They could be more like the middle dream . . ..
In that I was young. I don’t mean “younger”, I mean like I was late tween or early teen. I was in my nightclothes, and I was wandering about a school late at night, and there were lots of pools of darkness and dim spots of lighting here and there, and it was very, very peaceful.
Oh, and I wasn’t alone. I was with a friend, a girl who was my age and also dressed in her pajamas, and I think we were playing some elaborate game of hide-and-seek, or we were looking for someone (I do get that feeling that we were looking for people)–or maybe we were simply wandering about an empty school building sometime after, say, a Midnight Madness was over and we just weren’t ready to head back home and go to sleep–
That was the best one. That was the one where I could feel, right in the dream, that I was happy and relaxed, and I wanted to spend the rest of the night walking about, hand-in-hand, with this girl who smiled and batted her eyes at me every so often, partially because it was funny, partially because I knew she cared for me and this was on of her ways of showing endearment.
No magic; no latex; no bondage; no sex–just something sweet and loving. I don’t expect every night to turn into The Dreamer’s Ball, but you know . . . why can’t I have more dreams like that one?
Why can’t every night find you hand-in-hand with someone sweet?