Before heading off to sleep I was listening to music, as the writing was finished for the day. Had two of my student do something heroic: they got to fly, move through walls and floors, and even break a leg as they helped save their alma mater. Three more chapters and the attack at my school is over, then it’s Wrap Up Time, and finally on to what’s next.
Earlier in the day I’d spoken with a friend, another writer who’s also working for a small publishing house as an editor. We were discussing things we’re working on, stories we’re looking to send out, and what sort of backlog we had. She has two or three things she wants to clear out; when I counted down what I had laying before me, it was like, “Damn, I got a lot.” A lot as in Transporting (three novel series), Diners at the Memory’s End (short novel), Couples Dance (short novel), Kolor Ijo (novel), Suggestive Amusements (novel), and four novellas/novelettes.
And there’s the almost-novel I’m working on now.
I have backlog.
All this followed me to bed. It was there as I was drifting off. All that, and thoughts about the Monster House.
It’s been a while since I wrote about this place: 9 September, 2012, was my last entry where I spoke of the dream I used to have pretty regularly. It was a spooky thing, this dream, and it used to bother me in ways you can’t imagine. It didn’t so much scare me as it disturbed me. It truly was something that was as vivid as reality–sometimes even more–yet continued to make no sense in the light of day.
When I woke up today, the Monster House was still on my mind, because I remembered in the early light of this morn that I haven’t had a dream about the Monster House since I wrote that post last year. It not even been that close to my memories, either.
I turned it into an idea.
When I was working at The Job From Hell–located at The Undisclosed Location–every weekend I’d make the high-speed trek from northwest Indiana to central state, and the two-and-a-half-hours on the road gave me plenty of time to think. I thought about the Monster House and where it was located in rural Indiana. How it fit into a fictional character’s life. How they came to own it. What it did to them.
I took that dream and set up in my idea file, captured a few Google Map shots so I could figure out the location of my house, and filed them away.
Once that was done, the dream vanished. It’s waiting for something to happen; it’s waiting for me to write its story.
The thoughts I woke up to this morning also made me wonder about what I was listening to last night, and my final post before leaving the Internet World:
I said the Guide Vocal was taking me to bed.
What is the Guide Vocal? Best guess, it’s the inner voice of Albert, who–as we all know–is a born loser. It attempts to show him the way, but it becomes apparent that Albert isn’t listening, because things happen to him that aren’t good. The Guide Vocal was the last thing I heard before heading to bed. It told me:
I am the one who guided you this far,
All you know and all you feel.
Nobody must know my name
For nobody would understand,
And you kill what you fear.
I call you for I must leave,
You’re on your own until the end.
There was a choice but now it’s gone,
I said you wouldn’t understand,
Take what’s yours and be damned.
Thanks, Tony. I believe I’m finally getting what you were trying to say.
Guide Vocal lyrics by Anthony Banks, copyright 1979.