Category Archives: dreaming

Nostalgia

This weekend, I cleaned up the spare bedroom that seems to have become the dumping ground for “stuff” lately. I don’t have an attic and the basement has its own Nile, so what would normally end up in one of those places ends up in this upstairs room. I still don’t know what possessed me to organize it, though, since that’s not really me. Mostly, I set things down and forget about them. If I put things away, I’d probably never find them again.

So I’m cleaning up and found a box that’s moved with me three times and never been unpacked. Methinks it’s time to let go of whatever’s in this box if I haven’t needed it in five years, right? No! Turns out this box is full of my brief stint as owner and editor of the once mildly popular website called Short Story Writers Showcase.

SSWS was my baby for a few years back in the late 90s. It was a place where authors could have their short stories on display for anyone to read. Nothing fancy, just a huge collection of stories that I accepted, helped polish, and sent out into the world for everyone to enjoy. No one got charged or paid, but the site appeared in The Writer’s Market book a couple of times. By the end of its life, there were over a thousand stories online and over 400 waiting for me to read them. That to-read list is what triggered the end of SSWS because I started grad school in 2000 and couldn’t keep up with the reading and writing requirements of that and continue SSWS like I wanted to. For a little while, I tried to get some help in the form of associate editors, but my time was still in too much demand. I hated to do it, but I had to close it down.

I loved that little site, though. I miss it sometimes. I met a lot of really talented authors who I hope are still out there writing. And I know working that site was yet another step I took to becoming the author I am today. It was also good for my career since I edited the site in Notepad having taught myself all that code — before WYSIWYG editors even existed — and now coding doesn’t phase me at all.

Did you ever visit SSWS? Did you ever submit a story?

Revelations

I think best, it seems, just before I fully wake up in the morning. Sometimes the morning begins at 3 AM with the mental bang of a new idea, or the idea that solves a bit of writer’s block. That’s how this Sunday began for me.

I have a digital clock on my bedside table, so it’s not possible for me to hear the numbers change over, but I woke up as 2:59 became 3:00 as though I heard tiny panels turning over. Immediately, I thought of Groundhog Day, one of my most favorite movies. Then I thought, “Make things worse. Really bad. She has to suffer.”

She’s got it too easy right now. I need her sweating that nervous, desperate funk while her mind spins from the mess she’s made of her life. And because of the secrets she’s keeping from the ones she loves. So ramp up the bad. How bad can it get? Then make it worse.

So, yeah, I woke up this morning and spent an hour staring at the ceiling and imagining the various things I could do to ruin someone’s life so that when she gets it back she’s learned her lessons and earned her happily ever after. I know what to do now–have already written it, in fact–and I’m feeling that lifted weight a revelation like this always gives me.

Of course, there’s a nap with my name on it waiting for this afternoon…

Sammy

I have a recurring dream about a boy. Not terribly original given what I write about except that this boy is twelve and he wants me to adopt him. His name is Sammy. He has big blue eyes and curly brown hair. He’s always scared and lonely and wanting to be loved. I cuddle him up, promise I’ll be his mom, and get a radiant smile from his beautiful young face because he believes me.

Then I wake up and cry.

Part of me loves this dream and part of me hates it. As far as I know, I don’t have any magic abilities to tell the future. As far as I know, there is no Sammy. At least, not this Sammy. As far as I know, not one thing about this dream is ever going to come true. But, damn it, I really want it to. If I wake up one more damn time wondering where Sammy is…

What I really want to know is why I keep having this dream. If there is a real Sammy out there who’s looking for me, he’s twenty-two right now because I’ve been having this dream for the past ten years. If I’m going to have a twenty-two-year-old around here, he’s not going to be playing the role of my son, for Pete’s sake.

So what’s the deal, Sammy? What do you want?

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