Pillow Dreams

At writing group we are given a list of prompts and 10-20 minutes to write. The idea is to just write. The result is a raw, probably unfinished piece of work. Below is what I wrote at group recently. This is very raw. I revised nor added nothing.

The prompt: What if your pillow collected your dreams and you could plug it in to your laptop and watch them over and over again?

Pillow Dreams

By Mary Patricia Bird

I awoke at 3 a.m. in a hot sweat. I had been dreaming. I know you should write down your dreams immediately so as not to forget them, but I was more concerned with my moist clothes and dry mouth. I changed my pajamas and got a drink of water, then I climbed back into bed and immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke in the morning my mind was blank. The dream had completely disintegrated from my mind. Frustrated, I sat up and stared at my pillow. It was a new pillow, one I had just bought the day before. I was just now noticing a black cord sticking out of the pillow case. I pulled on it but it didn’t budget. Upon further examination I realized it was actually attached to the pillow, the end a USB connection.

Curious, I grabbed my laptop and plugged the USB into it. Strange images appeared on the screen – colourful squiggly lines which eventually faded into darkness.

Like a movie, a scene began to appear. A tree, and then another tree, and then another. I was staring at a dark forest. It wasn’t just any forest though. It was familiar to me. I became mesmerized as I “moved” through the forest until I reached a clearing where an old cabin stood.

“Oh God,” I moaned. This was a scene from my dream. As it came back to me I felt sweat trickling down between my breasts. If this was my dream I knew what was going to happen. I tried to focus, to stay put, not moving, but the cabin grew larger on the screen as, obviously, I approached it.

My heart began to quicken and I brought one hand to my chest, the other to cover my eyes slightly. I didn’t want to look but at the same time I did.

A hand, my hand, reached to open the door. It was as if I was playing in a virtual reality game, but I knew this was no game and it was not going to be fun. I still could not remember exactly what lay behind that door but my mind and body were telling me it wasn’t good.

Should I hit the escape button? Unplug the USB? I couldn’t do it. I had to see, had to remember.

As the door slowly opened I walked inside the dusty old one-room cabin. My heart raced harder, my breathing quickened, my eyes widened in shock and fear………

~~~~

Time’s up. How will this story end? I don’t know. How would you write the ending to this bit of flash fiction?

A Slant of Sunshine

http://www.postcardshorts.com/index.html  Check it out for my story A Slant of Sunshine (from my collection AND MAYBE YOU FLOAT AWAY). Tell a story in under 250 words.  Cheers.

BOUNDOFF.COM

Hi all. Just wanted to turn you onto a cool website/podcast at boundoff.com.  They encourage authors whose stories are accepted to record their story and send it to them as an audio file. My story MARCY CUNNINGHAM is one of two stories being broadcast for the month of March.  The story is from my (growing) collection of flash fiction tales entitled AND MAYBE YOU FLOAT AWAY. Take a listen. But... if you are prone to depression... beware!

Good News

Hi all.  Recently found out that I won second prize for adult poetry in the Click Create Celebrate literary competition, sponsored by the Caledon Library.  Here is the poem:

Untitled

the sky is charged tonight

timorous stars, ears turned earthward

listen for their true voices, that

like blind gospel psalms—echoing

upwards from upturned palms

—rise out of the vocal sacs

of a sea of peeper frogs

who fill the wetland bogs

with intense ululations

a sexuality of supernovic proportions

light years separate star and frog

yet are they not one being

as the hand is, at heart, no different

from the head in its seeing?

they sing, these tiny astral amphibians

to give cruciform voice to a longing

felt in the farthest reaches of inner space

to teach me something

I cannot fully comprehend

like a dream I cannot quite place

the sky is charged tonight

it needs us to attend

it needs to birth universes

stir up cosmic dust dances

toss its connecting light

like a seine net over us all

drag creature-Earth to shore

so that we finally find each other

the way a hand searches for and caresses

the furrowed field of a brow

to share in its many sadnesses

my yes, my heart cups

the hive of the world

whose shiver chatters bones

its heft-sensuous curves

braille-like textures intone

the warp and weft of

Being in its becoming

and when I look at you

with my stars singing in your eyes

your frogs peeping in my ponds

I am made to ask

where do I end and you begin?

Meanwhile, we carry on writing towards the collection of flash fiction now tentatively titled AND MAYBE YOU FLOAT AWAY, with the goal of completing it and shopping it around for Spring of 2014. Working with a professional editor has really helped my understanding of 'conscious' writing, which is to say that I am more aware now, as I write, of the intertwining of narrative/character/thematic elements inherent to good storytelling. It is very much an art and a craft, this business of scribbling.

Next up, Anthony Carnovale and I will be offering a presentation and workshop series for seniors in Snelgrove, Ontario, on Nov. 7th, on the topic of MEMORY, IMAGINATION and the POWER OF STORYTELLING. We're also working on a series of workshops for autism spectrum teens. Busy period! Keep you posted.  Cheers.