Had a dream before I woke up this morning, and while I only remember a few dots of it, the ones I do remember are:

• One of those safety cones cleaning staff put down on the floor, with “Hebrew” lettering (or what my subconscious identified as Hebrew), and an English translation. The translation read: “Plot Point.”
  
• Frantic searching for my passport, and worrying that it had been left behind in a foreign country.
  
• Piling into a car with someone else and his (?) little brother, luggage piled on top, and in every nook of free space inside, and trundling down the driveway in the predawn hours to start a (road?) trip.

My Mother and Father were both in the dream, too (Mother died 26 years ago, and Father died 11 years ago), and the driveway in question was that of my childhood home (where I have not lived in 21 years, in a place I haven’t visited in 5 years).

So the homesickness, and longing for family, that have been saturating my dreams for the past several months, was all there. But they were waving us off (I think), not coming with us. And the whole point of the dream was that this trip was very important (but I don’t remember if any of us knew what the destination was).

Sometimes, my dream mind is frustratingly opaque in its symbolism. Other times ... It's about as subtle as a flashing neon sign with arrows, a scrolling marquee, and a circus pipe organ. :-)

Still have zero glimpse of a plot idea, though.

I just have to share:

Apocalyptic (content warning for rape, violence and misogyny tropes common in fiction)

1) My latest Tumblr entry: https://aegipanomnicorn.tumblr.com/post/140443131998/a-history-of-the-word-handicap-extendedkeith

I'll probably be doing a lot of reblogging-with-commentary here, rather than weighting it more toward original content,* because my ulterior motive is to connect with the existing Networked Disability Community, so when my book is finally finished, I'll have a wider audience (I hope) to announce it to.

2) Speaking of which --

a) It's more done than not done, but the time spent on each facet seems to work on a reversed logarithmic scale: the later, smaller steps take increasingly more time than the earlier big steps.

b) I made the decision (not yet firm) to get rid of my first chapter -- the vaguely chronological autobiographical one -- and reshuffle its poems into other chapters; I'm moving Ghost story: 1966, for example, to the chapter "Expert Opinions."

c) Meanwhile, I keep getting hit with more unfortunate inspiration. The February 24 episode of NOVA ("Rise of the Robots") was all about the latest DARPA challenge to invent a robot that could be used in search and rescue. And, regarding the question: "If walking on two legs and opening doors ends up being what causes all these robots' downfalls, why keep trying to make them look like humans?" a DARPA official answered (something to the effect of): "Well, these robots will being going into buildings built by and for humans, so the robot will have to do human things like climb stairs and turn doorknobs." ... No mention (or thought) of humans who can't climb stairs or turn doorknobs, and so get left behind to die in the stairwells, waiting for rescuers to come get them.

That will be another poem in the "Expert Opinion" chapter.

The printed transcript won't be online for another two weeks or so (probably -- info on the official Nova says the transcript is "typically" available online three weeks after an episode airs). When it is available, I'll make another, more detailed post about it, with a link that folks who can't watch the PBS episode can go to instead.


3) I think my next YouTube video (that I upload) will be of this poem, however.

4) 5 Brilliant Scientific Accidents -- A YouTube video from NPR

5) I may be slow in noticing important details, but I saw "my" first robin of the season, today, while eating lunch.

{ETA -- lost footnote: *That's what this place is for.}

dialecticdreamer has embarked on her monthly writing marathon called "Magpie Monday," and is seeking prompts on the theme "Disaster? Or Opportunity?" She's named it "Magpie," 'cause she thinks prompts are the shiniest, and she loves to collect and use them. Her post explaining how it all works is here: https://dialecticdreamer.dreamwidth.org/201806.html

(And, once I've thought up my own prompt, this signal boost earns me another 100 words of story).

I recommend her work -- she's adept, especially, and fuzzy, gentle fiction that never descends into twee or schmaltz, so if you're having a bad day, and need some kindness, pop over and give her some suggestions. She's very generous.

A week early (Happy Labor Day!). dialecticdreamer is collecting shiny prompts, again! This month's theme is "Birth and Rebirth" (either literal or metaphorical). Here's the official prompt call

Give her a prompt, and she'll give you a story (she's really rather good).

Here's the post which is the index of the story worlds she writes in: Welcome and Primary Map.

So -- there's a woman in my reading circle: dialecticdreamer, who's pretty nifty. And every second Monday of the month, she hosts "Magpie Monday," and asks folks to give her prompts (like a magpie, she just wants to collect the ALL the shiny!). Then she spends the day, from wake-up to can't-keep-eyes-open, writing ALL THE THINGS.

So, this last Magpie Monday (the 8th), she posted a theme for the month: "Equal does not mean 'Identical'!"

I prompted her with my own retelling of the British folktale Sammle's Ghost. And she responded by writing this (in just a couple hours!! <3):

( Rain of Sorrows )

*-*-*-*-END-*-*-*-*

Naturally, I wanted more, so for this most recent Crowdfunding creative jam, I prompted her again, and got this:

Rebuilding Home.

Life is good! :-)

I wrote the bulk of the poems during last July's Camp "Session."

But I've been faffing about with the prose "Notes & Comments" part. I feel the need to back up each poem with prose explanations so that what I'm saying is not dismissed as "mere poetic license" (you know?).

So, this morning, I decided to sign up to the Camp's April session for that part, with a word count goal of 10,000 (same as last time).

Making an official commitment, now.

My new headset/microphone arrived Friday. I plugged them in on Saturday. And guess what? The microphone actually works, so I can record my voice again (which I haven't been able to do for over a year), which means I can get back to making videos of my poems, and maybe some other stuff, too....

This means also desensitizing my cringe reaction to the sound of my own voice, which will be awkward...

The downside is that, in the meantime, Windows Movie Maker has 'updated', and a lot of my favorite features for animating text and transitioning between still images are no longer available [/sarcastic yay], so I'll have to come up with other means of blending word/audio and visual elements into something that expresses what I mean.

Over in dialecticdreamer's journal, there's a discussion of favorite and least favorite plotlines/tropes, here: The bones of story. And I mentioned that I'm fond of "Beauty and the Beast" motif in folktales. I was sure I had posted this story, somewhere in my journal, before this. But no. I'd posted it to another forum, instead. It's time I rectified that. So, here:

( THE BAREFOOT QUEEN (Art Garden piece on the theme of 'Shoes') )

1. I remembered, in replying to raze, yesterday, that I eventually learned react before the scary music cue, and thought that it might be good to make that clear.

2. Much of the language in this poem is self-reflective, adult, and jargony. So I tried to make the two lines where I'm "hiding," at least, sound more like the voice of the two-year old me (cue Eleven's regeneration speech).

3. Question -- Considering the above: Back then, my actual name for the show was "Scare Trek." Should I call it that, in the poem?

A SPASTIC CHILD WATCHES THE T.V.

I learned to tell a story at age two
(At least, the craft of pacing and suspense).
Propped up between my parents on the couch,
With season one of “Star Trek” on the screen,
I could not hide, but quickly learned:
Anticipate the music's minor shift,
Then plug my ears and close my eyes and hum
Until the things that scared me went away.
I never feared the aliens as much
As all the angry shouts and lasers' whine
That always happened – every episode –
As soon as any “monster” came on-screen.

Could I have understood, as young as that:
My difference, too, was something that they feared?