Writers Dreaming

On Bad Dreams:

Some people don’t like to talk about bad dreams, feeling that talking about it gives power to the scary stuff. Well o.k. Here’s the deal. Sometimes words make things bigger than they are. But sometimes, they make something smaller, too.

Think to a time when you told a joke, and somebody understood it. Well, explaining it didn’t make it funny. In fact, it took the humor away. When you put the humor into words, it stopped being as funny.

Back to dreams. Sometimes you dream things that are big and scary. Part of the bigness and scariness is that they are dark and undefined. Well, if you put into words the big, scary, undefinable thing, you are defining it. This doesn’t work so well in math; unfortunately no matter how much you talk 1 divided by 0 is undefined. However, putting something big and scary into mere English takes away part of the scariness. This is similar to explaining a joke.

Once you’ve faced something frightening, you can move on. You have looked at the big ugly thing frankly, and it may still be scary. But in my opinion, constantly having a big scary something lurking in your mind gives too much power to the big scary something.

On Dreams:

Dreams are weird. One minute, you’re dreaming about pizza, and the next minute you’re engaged to your cat. Personally, I hate the dreams when I can’t find my contacts and everything is fuzzy. I’m not sure what dreams mean. Sometimes they are random, and sometimes they reflect my stress level, and many times I don’t even remember them. Sometimes things happen in my dreams that make me wonder what is going on in the old sub-conscious. And sometimes they are a mash-up of random things I saw and heard during the day. One thing I hate: when dreams are so life-like that later I can’t remember if something happened or if I just dreamt it. I don’t know enough about dreaming to be able to give a conclusion on what they mean. People seem to like to know what things mean. All I know is this: dreams are weird.

On Big Mind/ Little Mind

There are numerous ways to occupy my little mind so that my big mind can get going. I have a lot of ways to get ready to write. Or, really, to do anything. Usually I like to read, or exercise, or play the piano.

But writing is hard. First you must establish an idea. Here’d the deal: ideas that satisfy your little mind are hard to come by. At least for me. You see, my little mind is a rather conflicted person. Sometimes, she’s very encouraging and anything I write is s to the weet. Sometimes, she’s a really mean literary critic that thinks that all ideas ever are either bad or overdone and usually both. Usually, she goes back and forth so fast that the slope is undefined. So, I usually tell her that I’m just writing for fun and that she can take it easy. Once she takes it easy, I start writing. When I start writing, sometimes I have a really random off-topic idea. These are usually the ideas that I like the best.

                                              Graph of Little Mind during Pre-Writing

Colorful Story

The house was blue. Behind it, a view of the ocean. Above, a cloudless sky. The shutters and door were a dark indigo. The entryway was calming, the cool colors contrasting the brightness outside. Georgia sat inside, eating a blueberry muffin. She looked at her watch with forget-me-not eyes. Her face was downcast as she waited, shifting in her jeans.

The brown dog entered the yard. His muddy paws wreaked havoc on Georgia's flowers. She ran outside, nearly tripping over the exposed root of an old maple tree. She tried to chase him back onto the dirt road, but he was stubborn. He ran into the house, tracking soil from the ruined flowers into the entryway. Georgia followed. Once inside, she  poured a cup of coffee before continuing the pursuit.

The red convertible carried Mark down the road. He reached Georgia's house and exited, grabbing the roses from the passenger's seat. Heart pounding, he was about to knock when he saw the door was cracked. He entered and saw Georgia chasing the dog, her face flushed. Quickly, he dropped the flowers and began chasing the animal. The dog scraped Mark's leg when Mark grabbed him. After they caught the dog, they discovered his name was Cayenne. Before returning Cayenne to his owner, Georgia gave Mark an Elmo bandaid for his bleeding leg.

"I heard about the university laying you off." Mark said as he drove Georgia into town to return the dog. They passed grassy pastures and dark green forests on the country road.
Georgia worried a leaf from the stem of one of the flowers.
"Yeah, I guess you can only have so many biology teachers. Last in, first out. I was waiting for my last paycheck to come in the mail before that dog came."
"I came to say that sucks, and that I have an uncle in Oregon. His university has an opening, I think you should apply. It's not too far from here. I could put in a word for you."
"That's nice, thankyou."
When they got to the house where Cayenne lived, she saw a four-leaved clover in the grass.

Color Haiku 3: Wild Plum

Enter the cellar

Basket with dried wild plums

The fruits of summer

Paint Haiku 2: Deep Desire

Slowly opening
In a snow-covered greenhouse
Five camellias

Paint Haiku 1: Romantic Rose

Pink against pavement
Rose sitting on grey concrete
Gathering the snow

Morning's Work: Color Free Verse

I stood and stretched.
The oat field was still wet from dew, fog still lingering.
Beyond the field, I see the wild nutsedge spilling from the forest.
I sighed; the weed was invading.
A hawk flew overhead.
I readjusted the sack on my shoulder,
And I bent down
And I continued the morning's work.

"Stormy Cove" Variation 1

Stormy Cove

Two people,
Stormy cove.
Winter's night
Cold hands
chilled bones
Bright windows,
Open door,
Glowing fireplace
Soft light
One knee
Ringed finger
warm hearts.

Color Inspired Acrostic: Burnt Spice

Billy hid
under the table,
relishing the moments before
Nanna would arrive and
tell him he was naughty.

Science had failed him, his food chemistry had
pitfalls. And an atrocious odor came from the
inside of a pot on the stove where the
Cumin had met its
end.

Daisy's Tale

I spent my girlhood in the elegantly named metropolis of Possum Kingdom, South Carolina. We were in the Blue Ridge Mountains, which are the southernmost tip of the Appalachian range. I didn’t always live there, I used to live in New York, New York. My earliest memories there are of my mother and I eating instant chocolate pudding and watching tv on rainy Saturdays. My father wasn’t there; he was deployed. When I was 7 my mother decided to move to Possum Kingdom, to be closer to our grandparents. We left in late January.

We didn’t have an awful lot of stuff; most of it fit into three big suitcases and two laundry baskets in the back of the car. We shipped the rest, and most of the furniture stayed with the apartment.

We left just after dawn on a Tuesday morning. It was cold that day; I remember that from walking into McDonalds for lunch. We turned off the interstate and started winding through hills around midafternoon. Once the sun set, I watched flurries in the headlights. I asked why it was snowing if we were in South Carolina. Mother said it was because we were in the mountains.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember awaking with a start. We were on the gravel road to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They had a lot of acreage, so the drive from the road to their house hadn’t been cleared. Behind the house they had pastures and barns for the cattle.

When we got to the farmhouse, I got out to stretch my legs. Not much of the snow had stuck around the farm. I noticed a funny thing under the trees: there were blue flowers growing there. I was about to point this out when Grandma and Grandpa came out the house. Grandpa swung me around, and Grandma told me there was hot chocolate inside.

It was delicious hot chocolate. As I sat drinking it in the kitchen, the adults brought the bags inside. We were to stay there until Mother found a house nearby. I was soon lured into the family room by the wood fire. There were a lot of strange things in the living room. I found out later that the scary metal claw by the fireplace was a grapnel anchor. I touched one of its spikes in admiration.

There were strange books on the bookshelf. The cover of one had a drawing of a monster head. It looked like it was about to jump out of the cover and eat me. I put it down. Mysterious things continued to happen throughout our stay.

Once school ended, we moved into a house closer to Possum Kingdom.

I loved growing up there. There wasn’t much to do and the old ladies at the beauty parlor knew everybody’s business. (Except for why there were so many strange happenings at my Grandparent’s farm. They thought it was haunted.) Regardless, it was truly a lovely place. Especially when my father was home on leave-those days were the best.

I am... Kaitlyn

I am… Kaitlyn Elmer

I am

Converse, jeans, and flannels

Corduroys, boots, and comfy sweaters

Green shorts, white summer blouses, and leather sandals

I am

Warm white dinner rolls, my Mother’s apple pie, culver’s french fries, and Springfield cashew chicken

chips and salsa, chocolate milk, and apple juice

I am

Equations, theorems, derivatives and integrals- Instantaneous velocity and area under a curve- pythagorean spirals and unit circles- horizontal and vertical asymptotes.

Full bookshelves and a nightstand covered with a stack of books.

The English countryside, the Scottish highlands. I would love to visit the United Kingdom. The setting of the tales of Jane Austen, C.S. Lewis, and Frances Hodgson Burnett.

Summer days spent reading on the porch. On my bed when it gets too hot.

I am

Lonely after the death of my dog- a medium sized mutt with long hair, odd coloring, and the face of Lassie.

The harasser of Rico, the irritable and soft tabby.

I am

A daughter, the youngest of three, and raised in Springfield, MO.

My father’s eyesight and my mother’s eyes.

A sister of two college students. I will soon be joining my sister and brother.

The standard little sister. Growing up I wanted to be what my sister wanted to be. I started piano because she did. My brother convinced me to play the trumpet in band.

My grandfather’s cattle farm. The drive through Branson and then through the Northwest Arkansas hills to visit; the arrival after a gravel road and the smell of chicken houses. The basement with my grandmother’s sewing machine and piles of fabric.

A horse quilt from my grandmother, and a floral quilt from my mother

My aunt and uncle’s house, where we spend almost every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.

Nerts, dominoes, conversation, and plenty of food with extended family. A late lunch and dessert for dinner.

A member of a family- a conglomeration of European roots. Exact countries unknown.

I am

Excited for the future- the events that will continue to determine who I am.