alternate worlds
Near
Ash Cave, in Logan, Ohio. Summer 2005, on an exceptionally nice day.
I started a new chapter/section/thingie today. Jason has taken up lucid dreaming, but so far it isn't working. I like the idea of lucid dreaming myself, at least partly because I like the word "lucid"--a lovely word that sounds like water sliding over a rock (this image courtesy of Crazy Diamond, a blog I read; if I knew how to make it clickable, I'd do it, but just search for it on Google).
It occurred to me today that in my novel it's summer--I believe it's late June or early July there right now. But the author (me) is mired in winter. This seems unfair, although Jason et al might say it was payback for all the plot difficulties I've made for them. Did I let him successfully and lucidly dream? I did not.
It's summer there, the trees are green, the fields are rippling. Every time I sit down to write I step into that world, the world of the novel, small town Logan in the summer time. Like a vacation, except, of course, that I'm working, piling up words so that the whole thing doesn't come apart. I think it's only fair though that someone should be going swimming soon, going to a beach on Lake Logan maybe, or to a deep, still part of the Hocking River.
Ash Cave, in Logan, Ohio. Summer 2005, on an exceptionally nice day.I started a new chapter/section/thingie today. Jason has taken up lucid dreaming, but so far it isn't working. I like the idea of lucid dreaming myself, at least partly because I like the word "lucid"--a lovely word that sounds like water sliding over a rock (this image courtesy of Crazy Diamond, a blog I read; if I knew how to make it clickable, I'd do it, but just search for it on Google).
It occurred to me today that in my novel it's summer--I believe it's late June or early July there right now. But the author (me) is mired in winter. This seems unfair, although Jason et al might say it was payback for all the plot difficulties I've made for them. Did I let him successfully and lucidly dream? I did not.
It's summer there, the trees are green, the fields are rippling. Every time I sit down to write I step into that world, the world of the novel, small town Logan in the summer time. Like a vacation, except, of course, that I'm working, piling up words so that the whole thing doesn't come apart. I think it's only fair though that someone should be going swimming soon, going to a beach on Lake Logan maybe, or to a deep, still part of the Hocking River.
posted by mary grimm at 5:19 PM
2 Comments:
I always like stuff that has to do with dreaming--like that dream stage thing someone was telling us about. On another topic--when I write, it doesn't feel like stepping into some other place and time so much as stepping into my head, a personal, idiosyncratic landscape with emotional weather.
It does sound lovely -- a nice fresh summer breeze, a dip in the cool Hocking River, then getting back out and toasting yourself on the shore.
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