Archive

Posts Tagged ‘Fiction Writing’

The Creativity Bug

So my sister is a writer.  She has been a writer ever since I can remember.  She has a story idea and “BOOM!”: New Story.  At least that’s how it seemed to me.  And they’re not just stories.  A bunch of people can write stories.  Thousands of people throw words on page every day.  But she has always had good, well-developed characters and locations.  To be honest I’ve always been jealous of that ability.

A couple years ago, I had an idea for a story of my own.  I thought about it.  Then after that I thought about it.  It never seemed to come together completely for me.  I could think up a good “high concept”, whatever that means.  I had a couple of plot elements I wanted to try out.  I even had an overarching plot…sort of.  I talked this concept over with Mary Beth and she said it sounds interesting.  I should write it.  “Yeah right, I thought.” Read more…

The Dance

July 19, 2010 5 comments

I did not want to sleep.  I knew that if I slept tonight I would begin again the Dance.  Most nights I danced the Dance of dreaming with the ghosts of countless lives past.  I did not actually dance with the ghosts.  I danced as the ghosts.

I began the Dance of dreaming when I was only eight years old.  I still remember awakening in the cold blackness in a terror.  I still remember the dream.  I could hear the sound of music heard by no one but me.  It was the tenor voice of the rasp of a sword; the basso profundo of the galloping cavalry punctuated by the cello creaking of their saddles.  I could almost feel the soprano whistle of falling arrows with the thumping tympani of the shields being struck.

The music rose around me and the men I stood with, middle-ages foot soldiers, by their look, began to dance to the music, some singing out a counter-melody as they were struck down by arrow or blade.  I had danced this dance countless times.

The real me, the dreaming me, was stricken in panic, fearing for my life, but I was completely unable to do anything but dance this Dance of dreaming.

I remember leaving the dance to wake up as the other “me” began dancing his way across a battlefield, leaving Death in his path.

I do not like the Dance.  I also could not stop the Dance.  It did not happen every night.  It came seemingly at random.  One night I may dance.  The next I may not.

Sleep came unbidden and the next morning I awoke in a cold sweat, the newest Dance still haunting me with its melodies.  This time it was a pitched fire-fight in Vietnam.  I looked at the clock.  6:53 am.   Only seven minutes till the alarm went off; not enough time to go back to sleep. Read more…

Categories: Fiction Tags: