I’m sitting here, dreaming–what else is new?–and, all of a sudden, I am so filled with the emotion of the dream … I am so without control over myself that I just burst into song.  Not just any song, mind you, Olivia Newton-John’s cover of “You Made Me Love You!”

Worry not friends, I shake my head at this silliness along side you.  Buuuut, I do have a question?  Anyone else do this? (Besides Rhiannon)  This isn’t a unique occurrence for me.  I burst into song all the time.  It’s like they told us in college: the REASON there is song in musicals is the emotion has come to such a height the story has no choice but to continue thusly.  The same must be true in real life.  I guess, what I’m asking is … *Is there anybody out there..?*  (Name that tune … again, besides Rhiannon … too easy)

So here I am, seven years after high school, and I’m back to pouring my heart out to the world wide web.  I’m not sure how many people read this, as apposed to my LiveJournal days.  I don’t always link these posts, usually when they are on the more private side, but I might link this one … ‘cuz I want it read.  It amuses me to see the cycle.  I’m back where I started, changed, and an all around better person.

What I really wanted to write about was Rosie.  For those of you who don’t know her, she’s my super amazing, down to earth, “crass” (to use one of Rhiannon’s favorite British-English terms), and frank persons I know.  She’s no bullshit, but hardly ever business.  If there was ANYONE in the world who was destined to be a mother, she’s the one.  Her love is firm, but never ending, and motherhood has been her dream for as long as I’ve known her (which has been her whole life).

Last night I got a call from my lovely sister.  Rosie had an eye doctor’s appointment yesterday, and she found out she is almost completely blind in her right eye.  Let me back up a little.  Two years ago in July, Rosie gave birth to my godson, Landon.  After the pregnancy she started seeing silver fish in her right eye, and whoever (not sure if it was a doctor or a post-pregnancy nurse, she told me, but I forgot … I’m a bad brother sometimes) told her it was postpartum migraines.

Rosie has always been delicate, and I mean physically.  If you knew Rosie, you’d know how strong she is.  Always trying to rise above her limitations.  Never truly falling into the victim role she could play (although, understandably, she does have her moments).  She’s used to get in trouble for fighting at school … and I’m pretty sure she’s still in denial about being white–but that’s another topic.  I just can’t stop thinking about how awesome Rosie is, and how awful what is happening to her.

By delicate I mean, Rosie has always been small.  When she was born my mother had to put her in cabbage patch doll clothes.  She was born with a bone disease (inherited, albeit a stronger form of it, from our great-grandmother) called bradydactyly.  She still gets teased about her small fingers, but I don’t know anyone else who can give me the middle TOE!  For the longest time she was afraid of not being able to have kids, because of this, so when she had Landon … it was the best thing I could have hoped for her.  This eyesight loss seems like a cruel trade off.

Turns out, the whoever at the hospital misdiagnosed her.  If it had been postpartum migraines, she would have seen silver fish in BOTH of her eyes, coupled with, you know, an actual migraine.  Now, two years later, her retina is almost completely separated (with little hope of salvaging it) from the back of her eye.  The “worst” part about it … Rosie is pregnant again.  Even if there IS something they can do, they have to wait until AFTER she’s had the baby.

Knowing Rosie, this won’t slow her down at all, but I can’t help bawling my eyes out (definitely no pun intended).  Just the thought of her not being able to see Landon and the coming baby grow up … it’s not something I’m handling very well.  And it also makes me wonder if I can do something about it.  Just the other day Rhiannon was telling me that there is technology in development which can literally PRINT live human organs.  It’s yet another reason why what Rhiannon and I are doing HAS to be great.  There HAS to be something I can do for her.  Maybe not now, but not too far into the future either.

The Worst:

One would think the worst that could happen is failing: we never finish the book, nobody wants to publish it or it gets published and no one likes it. That would be pretty bad, but I’d still have the experience of being a novelist, something I never thought I’d actually have. Not to mention, we’re only a few chapters from the end of the rough draft, so I don’t think the first failure, of not finishing the novel, will happen. There is still the chance that no one will publish it or like it, but I find that doubtful.
We’re writing with our contemporaries, much like every time period I ever studied in British, American, or World lit. The classes are all about, “How is this similar to who came before and how is it different?” We are taking what is popular at the time and integrating the elements we like while making fun of the elements that we dislike.
And if no one likes what we write, we still have the experience, one that has brought Joey and I closer together than I thought possible. Which brings me to the absolute worst thing that could happen in this venture, and it could happen before or during publishing: something could turn into a huge argument between us and end our friendship forever.

I don’t think this could possibly happen. If it was going to, I imagine it would’ve happened already. Luckily for us, we’ve spent a lot of time fighting about useless things in the duration of our friendship and have therefore learned how to navigate an argument into something useful; every time we have an argument about the book, the story gets even better.

The Best:

Obviously the best case scenario is that our book catches the world’s imagination and we soar into the consciousness of our audience. That I’ll become a New York Times bestselling author, something I’ve wanted since I read Stephanie Plum and saw that splashed on every one of Evanovich’s books.  And maybe saying things like that does sound naïve. But if I didn’t go after this chance, I would be absolutely insane, especially since the worst that can happen seems so utterly unlikely. Let them say no to us; they can’t take away the artistic genius that has come from our writing partnership or the fun we’ve had along the way.

Sitting at their respective computers, the dual headed creature of R. J. Spindle ponders and dreams of their future.  They are talking about their favorite books, and how much fun it is writing their commentaries.  Joey perks up and says how he can’t wait to hear what his readers have to say about their stories.

“I wonder how many ideas JKR got from her readers?” Joey says.

“We’ll ask her someday,” answers Rhiannon.

Joey plants a devilish grin on his face, “And then I’ll say, ‘Here’s another idea from a reader … write another Potterverse book!’”

“NOOOOW,” Rhiannon bellows.  “SIT–HERE is a pen–GO!”

“Haha!” says Joey.  “We’re going to be SO cheeky.”

Rhiannon lets out a cackle, “Poor British Rowling isn’t going to know how to handle us.”

They both laugh heartily.  Then, Joey expression becomes serious.  “Something tells me we’ll both be slightly terrified at the same time.”  He sticks out his tongue.

“Hell yeah,” says Rhiannon.  “but I’ll channel it into being even giddier … like a do.”

Joey laughs again, and starts bouncing around his bedroom.

“And she’ll be like OMGCRAZYAMERICAN!”

“AAAAAAAAAH!” Joey runs and hides under his bed-covers, frightened by the loud noises coming from the Rhianno-Monster.

“And she’ll fight me with a handbag that she stole from the queen!”

Joey then pokes his head out from under the blanket, not being able to resist adding his two cents, “and I’ll be like, ‘HEY! YOU CAN AFFORD TO BUY YOUR OWN … leave the poor queen alone.’”  He sticks his tongue out again.

Rhiannon then lies on the floor, defeated by a fit of giggles.

And that, my friends, is you’re normal, everyday, conversation between Rhiannon and Joey-seph.  Thanks for reading!

I’ve remembered the past two nights of dreams!  This excites me, since it’s usually Rhiannon who has the vividly entertaining dreams.  The first one was of Rhiannon and I bumping into an ex-boyfriend of mine.  Unexciting, but not an entirely disagreeable dream.

About an hour ago I woke up from a doozy of a dream, though.  I was walking down Exeter Street in Lowell, my old neighborhood, with Rhiannon.  There was the big gang of punks walking behind us.  We were getting nervous, because they were jeering us and we weren’t sure what they were going to do.

Then a car passed us, and hanging out of the rear passenger’s side door was a naked Daniel Radcliffe.  For the record, I haven’t seen Equus, but Rhiannon has.  Anyways, it wasn’t just Mr. Radcliffe in the car–it was all three of them!  They were shouting, “We did it! We’re finished!”  Making all sorts of whooping and hollering noises, rejoicing at the completion of the Harry Potter films.

When they saw that we were nervous at being followed, Mr. Radcliffe pulled up his pants, and the three of them ditched the car and walked with us–making our posse big enough to ward off any malingering ideas the gang had.

We walked into the yard of my old apartment building, and there was a caged skunk by the gate.  An orange cat jumped off the porch and sat in front of the cage, but the skunk scratched the cat.  He didn’t even use his stinking capabilities.  It was odd.

I asked if the three would like to come upstairs and meet my siblings and mother, but Mr. Radcliffe objected right away.  Emma Watson was all for it though.  Rupert Grint was, unfortunately, silent throughout the entire dream.

I woke up shortly after Mr. Radcliffe’s denial.  Can anyone divine a meaning out of this hodge-podge of a dream?  I see many influences, but the most fun about it was the remembering.

Dreams of Travel

I knew when I started the year that I’d still be in New Hampshire by the end of the year.  I want to travel the world.  I want to live in France and Australia and Alaska.  I want to hike the whole of the Appalachian Trail and the Alps–maybe even look into climbing Everest!  I realize my fatal mistake in seeing these dreams come about was the knowing I had about being in New Hampshire.

Dreams Jobs

As for the job.  I started looking for a new one when I was closing in on my two year mark at the grocery store.  I even started looking again recently.  Neither instance was fruitless, but I realized something, and a solution presented itself.  The job I have is a means to an end.  The only reason I have it is to make money to pay the few bill I have … I hate to impose on my mother’s kindness, but she’ll be rewarded with coming harvest from these books we are writing.

The only “job” I will ever find fully satisfactory is writing.  I’ve rediscovered some old, handwritten, journals, and I’m working at completing them.  True, Rhiannon and I have decided to take a break from writing until the first of the year, but we both think the rest will bring us back with renewed strength.

I’m using the time to rest, read voraciously, do some crafts (I love embroidery), and write some short stories unrelated to Taftka.  I’m living my dream job.  The money will follow.  It always does, and that’s what we’re working towards with the patience of the gods of old … which, I must admit, wasn’t that long, haha!

Dreaming a Novel Finished

It was hard approaching December without a finished draft.  I attempted to use NaNoWriMo to sprint to the end.  Although I wrote a lot in November–and some great stuff at that–the novel still has nine chapters and an appendix before it’s complete.  And the appendix is currently up in the air.

If I learned how to write between 23 years and 24 years, then I learned how to write with a partner between 24 years and 25 years.  Rhiannon and I have learned to talk to each other at levels I’ve never experienced before.  The meshing of our thoughts is uncanny at times.  We’ve learned how to discuss without arguing, and if we DO argue it’s always productive.

We’ve arrived at places in the story planned and they transform in the writing process into something similar, but radically better than the original concept.  The story has really taken on a life of it’s own.  As long as I arrive at the keyboard images flash in my mind, and words flow through my fingers.  I’ve learned to let go of control and let the characters show me what happens.

What I Dream For Sure

The dream of completing and publishing this novel in the next year still stands.  I know once it is finished I will start traveling.  I may not go on any of the grand journey’s I mentioned earlier, but I’ll surely visit my family in Florida.  I’m feeling the pull, and I’d like to feel the heat again.

I dream Rhiannon and I will find the perfect agent.  I have one in mind, and she would be amazing for us.  I have her profile printed and posted on the wall in my room, and she reminds me of my goal.  We capture every facet of what she’s looking for in an author and material.  We also think that our plan to write a series will work in our advantage in getting published.

We’re bringing something different to the game.  We’re bringing everything we are … which is something every author must do, come to think of it.  For now, “I’ll blow my horn ’til someone blows it.”  Here’s to another year for personal transformation and progress towards the goal.  It’s closer that I even know.

What are Dreams?

Wouldn’t we all like to know?  I know I would.  I’ve read a lot of little bits on the subject growing up, and I think many of them could be right.  I’ve had all different kinds of dreams.  Dreams to support a few of the theories.

The first theory I remember learning was dreams sort out the sequences of the day.  Have you ever dreams like that?  Sometimes it’s more than the day’s events.  I find if even one memory is associated with the any particular event of a day, I see all the memories connected to it.  It’s a beautiful demonstration of the way our brian remembers things.  Seeing the way memories are stored in my brain is insightful.  If I pay attention, I can even discover something about myself.  Or, at least how I feel about a specific event in my life.

The second theory I remember is that dreams are a past life.  This theory, I don’t support so much.  I think it’s hard enough understanding one life, never mind having to go over all my past ones during the night.  Although, I have had dreams taking place in locations and with people that seem amazingly familiar.  I don’t know any of these people in my real life, nor even the places they take place in…yet, when I’m there, I know them well.  Maybe this is a parallel life.  Even if there is no other life that we have, it’s still cool to be able to have a whole other life that only one person is privy to in this one: me.

The last theory I’m going to talk about in this entry is precognitive dreaming.  This I believe whole heartedly.  I’ve had a great many dreams where later, sometimes even years later – I’d experience the exact same event, conversation, thought – or something close to it.  When this happens to me, it feels like a deja vu, but it’s definitely separate from that kind of mind action.  Deja vus I have no clear memory of before they happen.  It’s these kind of dreams being another reason why I’d like to keep a daily journal.  There are so many precognitive dreams I had when I was a kid, and I wish I had written those dreams down.  Not as proof to others, that wouldn’t be enough, but it would be proof enough for me.

When I was a kid, I used to think I was an angel on a cloud dreaming his human life.  One day, when I died here, I’d wake up there.  Whether the imaginings of a seven year old be true or not, it sure is fun trying to figure it out.