Dreams of writing...

Dreams of writing...

The night before last i was in college i think. And i was waiting to see if i'd made the top 3 of a writing contest. My teacher was rooting for me, so were my classmates, even though none of them were readers. They didn't care, they were happy for me in whatever i did. Right before i woke, i was lying in a single bed, ten feet from my teacher in her queen sized bed. Nothing sexual here. Suddenly the mailman bursts into the room with a cellphone & hands it to my teacher. By her response, it seemed like i had lost. In reality, Jojo scratched at the door to be let in. Had i cried out? Then awake, i realized my teacher might have been playing a joke on me, that i had won. That's often how my dreams come out. Some surprise. Either good or bad.

So my doubts about the writing industry invade even my slumber -- the bastards!

Waking today, i solved a part of a prose i worked way back in 2002, before the seizures. The piece is called "washersouth, downmachine." You may recall it. Funny how answers pop up 4 years later... i might work it, too. It was one of those pieces i couldn't finish. Now, i'd do it differently, so i'd entirely rewrite it from scratch.

Again, lots the "rat-bastards" of the print industry fail my writer friends. How blind-mice they play it about your piece. If only... No, Molotov Cocktailing their office building would solve nothing, except criminal time for my pals or me. BUT that might make an excellent story... Revenge of a Writer... Driven by extreme sanity to avenge serious writers everywhere against the games & stupidity of editors.

[Photo created by

http://www.louviereandvanessa.com/]