Inner Glow

So, it was a big dream weekend. Every night, my head hit the pillow and I found myself in bizarrely vivid dreams. Which for someone who used to try to rewind movies in her head, so she could watch she while she slept, is a nice state to be in. Makes the whole sleeping thing more interesting.

There was however, one aspect of every night’s dreams that was a little bit disturbing. Three mornings in a row I have awoken with memories of glowing eyes. Both people and turtles with glowing eyes, always either red or green. Now, they didn’t have glowing eyes for the entirety of the dreams, but at some point during my mental stories, their eyes would suddenly flame with color and light. And then they’d go back to normal and I was the only to have noticed the change.

Each night’s dreams were wholly unrelated with the exception of this one strange aspect. So, I figured might as well look up what other people think such things mean. Here’s what I got:

Site One: “To dream about a glow represents a realization that fresh information or perspective has been cast upon a situation. You have found a new perspective, and this is positive.”

Site Two: “To dream of glowing green eyes means that you are trying to fight off your enemies. To dream of glowing red eyes means that person is a very dangerous person.”

Site Three: “Something glowing eerily can represent a person or force with unknown intent.”

Apparently, my subconscious is cluing me in that I’m in the midst of a fight with my enemies and bad people, that I have new and positive perspective on a situation, or that I’m facing something with unknown intent. So, basically, good, bad or otherwise.

Glad that’s all cleared up.

It is also entirely possible, I guess, that my subconscious is trying to succeed in my lifelong goal to recreate the music video of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” 

I’ll let you know if folks/turtles with the optic glow start wearing choir robes and flying. Or if, you know, I suddenly have feathered hair or something.

A Picture May Be Worth A Thousand Words, But Pictures With Words Are Priceless

We had rehearsal in a different place last night. Generally we meet up every night at a nearby elementary school, but last night they were having an event.

I still had to drive past the elementary school to get to the new rehearsal location. If I’m being honest, the big sign proclaiming “Book Fair” kind of made me want to stop by for a second. I, not at all surprisingly, used to love whenever my school did anything book related. Fairs were fantastic. And whenever the Scholastic pamphlet came out, I would spend the rest of my day circling all books that I wanted, so that I could make an educated decision over which ones I would declare to my parents that I couldn’t live without.

It got me thinking about some of the earliest books I remember reading – the picture books that still hold places on my shelves.

Bill Martin Jr. and Eric Carle were big favorites for me early on. Martin came to my school once and signed my copy of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? And my young life was perfect. A few years back, I spent some time with one of my little cousins and we read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (Martin & John Archambault). Sitting there, chanting about the alphabet, I had some pretty strong memories of climbing up into the top bunk in the room I shared with my sister, clutching that book to my chest, beside myself excited that my parents had just gotten it for me.

Judi and Ron Barrett’s Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs was a book I read over and over again. Not only did I love the idea that food would rain from the sky, but I was absolutely enamored with the illustrations of this book. The expressions of the Chewandswallow citizens as the weather turned on them were well worth turning the pages for.

Chris Van Allsburg’s Jumanji was another book where the illustrations just got to me. That, plus I always really, really wanted my board games to come alive. Apparently, I wanted to make all the same mistakes as Judy and Peter. Also, Van Allsburg’s The Polar Express continues to be displayed on my coffee table every December. And I still feel a twist of heartbreak when the little boy realizes he has a hole in his pocket.

Keeping with yesterday’s discussion of alternative fairy tales, how could I not love Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith’s The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!? Poor Mr. Wolf. Just trying to get a cup of sugar…. And, of course, Robert Munsch and Michael Martchenko’s The Paper Bag Princess. I mean, Princess Elizabeth not only outsmarts a dragon and saves and dumps a prince, but also manages to keep her paper bag from going up in flames. That’s just impressive.

Okay, clearly I could go on like this for awhile. Every time I write one book done, two more that I love pop into my head. But it’s your turn now – What were some of your earliest and most enduring literary loves?

The Real Magic

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who was truly enamored of fairy tales, but kept finding little things about the stories she was reading or watching that nagged at her.

Why didn’t Cinderella’s glass slipper change into a ratty old shoe at midnight when everything else did? Then, at least, it would have narrowed down the pool of subjects the prince had to go door-to-door to.

Why were the fathers all so crappy? The love of a father for his child was often mentioned, but where were the actions to back up these claims? The fathers of Cinderella and Snow White apparently loved their daughters whole heartedly, but were too dumb not to notice that they were marrying horrific, abusive women. Hansel and Gretel’s dad was said to love them tons too, but ditched them in the forest twice. And only took them back at the end because his wife died. Father of the year, right there. The miller basically sold his daughter to the King under false pretense, leading to that whole Rumplestiltskin fiasco. But at least he never really pretended to be overly enamored with his offspring. So….that’s something, maybe?

Why were all the stepmothers evil? I knew a number of stepmothers, all of them were lovely people. So, it never made sense to me that every single stepmother in fairy tales wanted nothing more than to kill off all the children. I believed in all sorts of magic and mayhem, but this strange stereotype was too unrealistic for my young mind.

The questions went on and on. Probably because I kept going back to all the stories over and over. I loved them and they drove me crazy.

I’m not the only one who has cast a skeptical eye toward these classic tales, of course. There are tons of different takes out there. My father told me stories where Ariel stayed a mermaid. In high school, I was introduced to Into the Woods and Shrek, both of which, I was happy to see showed that happy endings aren’t always what we expect them to be. When I was in college, one particularly awesome roommate used to read stories to me from James Finn Garner’s Politically Correct Bedtime Stories. (Nothing speeds you off to sleep like Red Riding Hood’s stirring speech to the sexist, speciesist woodsman.) And now, I get to regularly enjoy blogs and tumblrs like “Introvert Fairy Tales” and “fairy tales for twentysomethings.”

All of these things have been on my mind a lot lately, as I work on a new story. And I think I’ve figured out what the real magic of fairy tales is – They can be whatever we want them to be.

So what are your favorites, be they traditional or reimaginings?

Security Blankets of the Literary Persuasion

I was reading this article yesterday and it got me thinking about my own comfort books. You know, the ones I can count on to give me the warm and fuzzies when I’m feeling homesick or just need a little break.

Given how frequently I like to revisit books, my list of such stories can get pretty unwieldy. So, I’ve limited myself to ten of my most tried and true. Many of them have been popping up in my reading rotation for the last 10-15 years. I’m happy to say that since getting out of school in May, I’ve read a number of books that are sure to be added to this list. But for now, I’m sticking to ones that have proven themselves as reliable soothers for at least a few years.

To keep this from getting too out of hand, I’m going to describe my favorite aspects of the stories in ten words or less. 

The Two Princesses of Bamarre (Gale Carson Levine)

-          Adventure centered on sisters, with happy (but not neat) ending.

Wraith Squadron (Aaron Allston)

-          Screw-ups who aren’t ready to throw in the towel yet.

Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)

-          Not an unflawed character in the lot. What’s not to love?

Cards on the Table (Agatha Christie)

-          Murder victim sets up card game between sleuths and suspects.

Animorphs: In the Time of Dinosaurs (K.A. Applegate)

-          Animorphs, time travel, dinosaurs. Pure awesome.

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

-          Book banning at a more intense level. Terrifying.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J.K. Rowling)

-          Introduction of Remus Lupin. Enough said.

Jewels of the Sun (Nora Roberts)

-          Whose life wouldn’t be improved by some lovelorn ghosts?

The Doomsday Key (James Rollins)

-          Classic race to save the world and some Celtic lore.

The Indian in the Cupboard (Lynne Reid Banks)

-          Old cupboard? A lone figurine? Best birthday gifts ever.

Okay, your turn. What books do you go back to when you need a little pick-me-up?

Morning Beast is Angry

Recently, the CD player in my car broke. It’s making strange, otherworldly whirring sounds and will neither play music, nor allow me to retrieve the CDs I so foolishly placed in its care.

And while my first reaction was total, despondent despair, I quickly realized that I could live with this. See, I have one of those plug thingies that allows me to play my iPod over the car speakers.

Problem solved!

Right?

Wrong.

In an example of unconscious self-sabotage at its finest, I just left my iPod up at my sister’s in Maine. MAINE.

So, I am left with the radio. Now to be clear, I have no fundamental problem with the radio. Many of my fondest childhood memories involve sitting in a car, wailing along to whatever song the radio gods chose to put forth. I like the mystery – the anticipatory ooh, what are they gonna play next feeling. See – no radio hate here.

Except…

The commercials are a little rough. I’ve definitely been spoiled by technology. Whether it be music or television, I want my entertainment and I want it now. This is particularly true in the morning. There’s a reason I don’t listen to any sort of talk or news radio in the early hours. It’s the same reason as why the Roomie and I stumble past each other in the hallway, avoiding eye contact, and maintain an unspoken pact to speak nary a word to each other until we’ve been at work for a couple hours.

Mornings are not generally comprised of my finest moments. And you know the whole thing about music soothing the savage beast? It’s true. What doesn’t work for getting the morning beastie to calm down? Talking. No, the sound of talking sends the morning beastie into incoherent howling, sprinkled with moments of Gollum-esque muttering.

Believe me when I say, you do not want to be driving next to someone, glance over into their car and see that going on.

Then there’s the fact that every radio station I’ve found has apparently been coerced into playing the same seven songs on a loop, throwing in maybe one change-up an hour (this morning’s was Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable.” Classic 2006).

So now, as I write this I’m humming One Direction’s lovely ditty about a girl being beautiful because she’s insecure and kind of really, really want to scream. Still, I can’t dispute their claim that the best way to prove you’re right is to place your argument in a song. Roomie and I live by this theory.  

And so continues my descent into madness.

Bad Movies/Good Party Themes: Drop Dead Fred Imaginary Friend Wine Tasting

Well, we are now into a month traditionally touted for its creepiness and costuming. And who’s creepier than Drop Dead Fred? (I’m pretty sure the correct answer is “a limited few.”)

And what better way to honor this maniacal fellow then to get together with your visible friends, dress up as your favorite imaginary pals, and enjoy some grape derived beverages with Fred and Lizzie? I don’t think there is one.

So, whether you favor Hobbes and Harvey, or are more interested in creating your own (here are some tips), the possibilities are fairly endless. Just don’t forget, this is a fancy event. Regardless of the imaginary friend you choose, they should be in their spiffiest duds.

So, break out your finest crystal and your strangest imaginings! Go and mingle with all those people who look like the friends you’ve known for years, but now aren’t! Learn their stories!

Basically, just have the most bizarre night you can.

(Oh – and this is just a personal preference – but I’d lose the whole spittoon aspect of the wine tasting. At least for this one night. No offense, but I just don’t trust those imaginary folks to keep their spitting to a localized, agreed-upon area. I prefer to nip that activity right in the bud.)

Crackerjack dialogue to look forward to:

-          "I have been pounded flat on the anvil of love like a piece of veal with a salad on top."

-          "Look at you. You’re all older. You’re even uglier. Uch. I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to be sick all over you immediately."

-          "I don’t love you because love is for girls and girls are disgusting."

-          "It takes more than a fire truck to stop Drop Dead Fred!"

Tagline: Dishes. Relationships. Wind. This guy breaks everything.

For a Drop Dead Fred Imaginary Friend Wine Tasting of your very own, here’s what you need:

-          Drop Dead Fred (1991)

-          Snacks of both the real and imaginary variety. Think regular fare and something along the lines of Hook.

-          Wine, grape juice, and/or any other beverage squeezed from a grape. Don’t forget to set out extra glasses in case your imaginary friends invite some of their buddies!

-          Decorations: In honor of Fred, deck the halls in his signature colors, green and yellow. And maybe throw in a little purple for Lizzie.

-          A group of die-hard Carrie Fisher fans and/or folks looking for a place to wear their nicest clothes before the holidays hit and no one can fit into them anymore and/or individuals you can depend on to truly commit to the ridiculousity of the night.

If you’re looking for another bad movie appropriate to the season, check out the very first BM/GPT post.

Also, congrats to Phoebe Cates and Bridget Fonda for making it into the BM/GPT ranks for the second time!

Have a great weekend!

Costume Considerations

Earlier this week I was having a conversation with a coworker regarding Halloween costumes. Her daughters have just started brainstorming as to what the perfect outfits would be for this year’s All Hallows Eve. I applaud them not only for waiting until we had broken in October (regardless of how barely) to discuss the topic of Halloween costumes and also for understanding that such decisions can not be taken lightly.

At least not if you’re me.

I used to spend hours and hours deciding on what would be the perfect Halloween costume. After all, I was a kid who liked to dress up like characters from stories on normal days, so Halloween had to have a little something special.

Here are a five of my favorite story-inspired costumes through the years.

1.

 

Oh, you don’t remember the story of the clown and the football-loving wolf man? How strange. Okay, fine, this costume didn’t come from a story, but I just thought you might want to see the origin of my consideration of clown as a valid career option.

2. 

One of my all time favorite costumes. I wanted to be an Animorph (natch), but couldn’t figure out how to do it. My mother suggested a brilliant way to show both the human and morph side and I happily cut a pair of jeans and a shirt in half. Result: Magic.

3. 

Who gets through high school without occasionally feeling a little evil? Not me. Perfect outlet: Cruella Devil. I filled the pocket of that coat with Dalmatian stuffed animals and got the lovely Odysseus to suffer the indignity of posing as my next victim. (Hey, he could have had it worse. He was almost named Cupcake. *shudders*)

Over the years, I also started to draw others into my web of insanity. Case in point: Roomie (who has been kind enough to sanction the use of her photo for these last two examples).

4. 

Proof that we’re Freakin’ Friends. At least until we come to bad ends.

5. 

One of us is a genius, the other insane. Just don’t expect us to agree on which is which (or if both are both). I can, however, say that, generally speaking, we do like do the same thing every night.

Okay, your turn now. What are your favorite past Halloween costumes? Are you planning to dress up this year?

Also, since I am such a fan of all things dress up, I would love to feature some of your past Halloween costumes on the blog. If you’re interested in being awesome, shoot me an email at countlesslives@gmail.com!

Flash Fiction: A Night Off

Hello all! Today I'm doing another Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge. This time I used a random number generator to give me a subgenre, conflict, and element to include in the story. I got the following:

Subgenre: Superhero
Conflict: Get the Band Back Together!
Element to Include: Flying Monkeys

Hope you enjoy A Night Off!

***************

           “Did you get my evite?”

            Darcy didn’t look up from her computer. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming it was a joke.”

            Lounging in the doorway, Anna sighed heavily. All of the papers went flying off the desk.

            Darcy closed her eyes momentarily before finally looking toward her visitor.

            “Sorry.” Anna winced, grabbing at the loose pages.

            “Why are you here?”

            “Lunch break. And you hadn’t answered.”

            “So, not a joke?”

            “No.”

            Darcy turned back to her computer. “Fine, I’ll decline and you can go back to work.”

            “Darce, come on.” Anna dropped the papers on the desk and flopped into the chair across from her friend.

            “Absolutely not.”

            “What if I said it was a matter of life and death?”

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “I’d say you were full of it.”

            “Fate of the world being at stake?”

            “Same answer. More expletives.”

            Anna dropped her head. “We need a night off. More, we deserve it. We save people lives every day. I mean, we’re superheroes! Who deserves it more?”

            Darcy flicked her wrist and, across the room, the office door slammed shut. “What time is it?”

            Anna sighed again, but managed to keep it controlled. “12:23 in the afternoon.”

            “Well, if that’s the time, then what I am is a human resources representative. And what you are is a librarian who needs to keep her mouth shut.”

            “You’re right. I’m sorry. We just all really need this.”

            Darcy rubbed her eyes. It had been a difficult year and it was no secret that the League’s morale was on the less sunny side of the street. Losing one of your own did that.

            “You guys take the night. I’ll patrol,” Darcy offered.

            Anna shook her head. “Lara and Jen are only in if you’re in too.” She rushed on before Darcy could refuse. “It’s not going to take long. An hour, maybe two. Still time for prime patrolling.”

            Were they crazy? “First time we were on stage, we were all struck by lightning.”

            “Freak storm.”

            “Which turned us into the same. And the second – ”

            “You threw up, I know.”

            Darcy laughed without humor. “I think you’re underselling it a little.”

            “Fine.” Anna groaned. “You got all up in everyone’s head and made the whole audience throw up, too. Not great, I know. But you were still getting used to your powers. That doesn’t still happen. It’s why you work in HR, because you’re so good around people.”

            Even just thinking back to those early days made Darcy mildly nauseous. “On an individual level or small groups. But I avoid crowds and you know that. So, we’re done talking.”

            “You used to live to play.”

            The twinge she felt only made Darcy angrier. She flicked her wrist, opening the office door. And ignored her friend’s pleas as she mentally pushed Anna’s chair from the room, slamming the door behind her. “Done.”

*******************

            They banged on her apartment door for a good fifteen minutes before losing patience. Finally, Jen walked through the wall and unlocked the door for the others. Darcy was surprised it took that long.

            She glanced up from her book. “You know that’s rude.”

            “It was either me, or Lara was going to rip the door off the hinges.” Jen shrugged daintily.

            “Apparently the subtlety of a locked door is a little too much for you, so to spell it out, I don’t want you here.”

            The other three women didn’t appear overly insulted, simply taking their favored spots around the room as they had done countless times before. Darcy made a point of not looking at the empty ottoman in the corner.

            A high pitched gibbering sounded from above and a small winged marmoset landed on the couch behind Darcy’s shoulder.

            Jen shuttered. “I still don’t understand why you kept that little horror. A guest sees a flying monkey and they’re going to ask questions.”

            “Yet another reason not to have guests.” Darcy drew the marmoset into her lap, lightly petting his wings. “Anyway, Lenny’s a sweetheart, aren’t you? It’s not your fault your creator was an evil mastermind who we had to imprison in the Arctic, is it?”

            “Well, this is enthralling.” Lara stood up to pace. She never sat for long. Darcy figured there was just too much power in her body for it to be comfortable at rest. “Now, get your fiddle, we’ve got a show.”

            “No.”

            Anna moaned. “Darcy, come on. One night! If there’s any vomiting, we’ll never ask you again. But, let’s have some fun first. We were gonna be the next big thing, remember?”

            “Yeah. Always such a high demand for girl groups singing traditional Celtic tunes. And do you really think our lives suffer from a lack of notoriety?” Darcy gestured to the day’s newspaper, adorned with a full page photo of their recent interruption of a bank robbery.

            “This isn’t about the League. This is about us. Who we really are.” Jen continued softly, “I know you were blood, but she was a sister to all of us, Darce.”

            Darcy focused on Lenny as Jen spoke. “We all miss her and it’s taking its toll. If we don’t find ways to recharge, we’re going to be worse than of no use to the world. We’re going to be a danger.”

            “And you really think that playing in some dive bar is going to stop that?” Darcy asked bitterly. “Stop me from lobotomizing the city that killed her, simply because I can?”

            Jen knelt in front of her, taking her hands. “We’re hoping it’s a start.”

            Darcy looked up at her friends, seeing their concern clearly for the first time. Her eyes darted against her will to the empty ottoman.

            She pulled her hands back and gave Lenny a little pat. He flew up to rest on the stationary fan blades. Ripping her gaze from the ottoman, she stood up. “I’ll get the damn fiddle.”

12 Angry Men, 1 Happy Girl

I don’t think it will come as a surprise to anyone who has read anything on this blog that I’m a big fan of action and fantasy when it comes to my viewing preferences. I like car chases and fight scenes and explosions. I love it if there’s magic involved in those things.

The first movie I watch when the holiday season hits is Die Hard. I may or may not have a history of dressing up like characters from Star Wars and I wanted nothing more as a kid (and, let’s face it, adult) than to become an Animorph. Give me some wisecracking heroes embarking on a crazy adventure where there will no doubt be a plethora of bad ass moments and I am a happy girl.

Which is why it sometimes surprises even me how much I love 12 Angry Men.

I put it on this weekend, while I was getting some stuff done around the apartment. I figured I’d seen it a bunch of times, it would be better background noise than something I hadn’t watched yet.

Foolish, foolish thought process.

It happened as it always happens. The movie starts and I glance over at the TV as the jurors are closed in their room. A little over and hour and half later, I’m shocked to see the credits come up and realize that I have somehow ended up nestled into the couch, complete with blanket.

I can’t not get sucked into this movie. (Yup, enjoy all those negatives.)

There’s no magic, but I’m completely enthralled. Nothing blows up, but I’m on the edge of my seat. The fights aren’t physical, but I still catch myself flinching.

It’s just twelve dudes in one room, arguing with each other. And I can’t look away.

Why?

The plot is simple. A jury must decide on the guilt of a teenager on trial for his father’s murder.

The overall stakes are clear. If they decide he is the judge has made it clear that the teenager will receive the death penalty. So, life or death.

And then there are the characters. I’ve already mentioned that my true love in all stories are always the characters, above all else, and man, do I adore each of these flawed fellas.

Every one of them has individual stakes. They each have a reason for the way they vote. They each have a reason they want to finish the jury process. Each character is distinct and each character is important. While Henry Fonda and Lee J. Cobb may be the ring leaders of the opposing sides, not one character is there simply as window dressing. They all matter. They all represent something. And at the end of the movie you remember each of them, even though you never know most of their names.

This is why I will go back to this movie a floppity-jillion times during the rest of my life and each time be completely engaged.

What movies do that for you?

Helpful, Meet Your Opposite

So, as I’ve mentioned, sometimes when I’m starting a story I like to use the people around me as sounding boards for my brainstorming.

Roomie’s not a fan of this choice (mostly because it's remarkably easy to creep her out). And as a result of the number of times I’ve annoyed her with my open ended questions, she's developed ways of thwarting me. One of her favorites is to list the names of books, movies, or characters that are tangentially related to what I’m talking about, while also totally irrelevant, and often nonsensical.

For instance, yesterday we had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: I’m trying to decide on a villain.

Roomie: I don’t want to be part of this conversation.

Me: Should it be the guy calling in all the money owed on the family home and threatening to throw them out into the street? Or maybe –

Roomie: What kind of fairy tale has tax evasion?

Me: No, it’s not tax evasion. It’s more like a balloon payment.

Roomie: What kind of fairy tale has a balloon payment?

Me: You’ve never read a story where the hero's journey starts to save the family home?

Roomie: That’s very Hansel & Gretel of you.

Me: That doesn’t even make sense.

Roomie: You know, breadcrumbs.

Me: Stop it.

Roomie: Ursula. Villian. Boomsa.

Me: You are the definition of unhelpful.

I'm going to leave it up to you to decide which one of us deserves the title of "poor, put-upon roommate."