The Dream

This nightly regiment must commence soon. Cannabis can take hold of the mind like no other. With inhibitions removed, creativity is free to flow. This happens most often at night. When the distractions of the day are gone, the storytelling begins.

That’s the idea any way. I’m not sure how well it will actually work, but I want to make writing every night my mission regardless. Writing everyday will get a flow going for documenting things and telling a story.

I’ve never had much of a problem documenting my thoughts briefly. The struggle has always been making them meaningful. I can jot down decisions I’ve made, or habits that I want to make, but I’ve never explained how I got there. The background for the foundation of the decision has never been explained.

That foundation is the real story. The decisions we make after the fact are simply themes. As the decision becomes more profound, so does the tale. Some novels really push home one small theme with multiple intertwined stories. Others use one epic adventure to explain a generation altering movement.

The Sleep

On this quest to create a novel has become my canvas. I am painting a picture in oils. Continually reworking the paints already spread out before me, I’m building upon my posts and pages. Each component is connecting together to form an identity.

Every good story has great characters. A character can only be great if it has an unforgettable personality. This has to be the type of personality you can connect with. Connection comes from being able to ignite laughter, rage, sadness, and compassion, all within the same story.

You truly connect with your spouse, because you experience all of these emotions with them. Betty Loo at your job is only superficial to you. She makes you laugh at work, but once you leave the office she’s off your mind.

If you were to have an affair with your neighbor and happened to let this slip to Betty Loo at an after work cocktail hour, She may remain in your head a bit more. She’s become the source of fear. You get nervous when you think about her.

A few months go by and you realize Betty Loo hasn’t told a soul. Now she’s aquiring more space in your thoughts. You feel a sense of hope and trust when you think of Betty Loo.

When you approach her about it, she is forgiving and understanding. She makes you feel like you’re okay. You have now experienced a vast array of emotions with her, and she has become a profound character in the story of your life.

This is how connection works. The same that is true for storytelling, applies to life. Allowing a story to be told, allows for connection. Acceptance and understanding allows the cycle of emotions to flow freely.

The Awake

That’s an interesting train of thought Wendy just had. She’s sitting on the floor of a public restroom with her panties around her ankles, and this is what comes to her mind? No wonder Tom left her.

Wendy shakes her head at this as she pulls her arm out of the toilet bowl. While the vomit streams down her arm she gags and reaches for the toilet paper dispenser. Of course it’s empty, so she stumbles over to the bathroom sink.

Shoving her arms under the running faucet, Wendy catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her mascara has created a perforated black ring under each eye, and her hair looks like home to a family of mice.

She knows damn well how she got here. Vowing never to drink again, she’s aware of the emptiness of it. Drinking isn’t the problem. Without alcohol, she’d just find another way to harm herself. She hates who she is, so this is what she does. She’s just like a parallel looking glass.

This reminds her of the inspiration behind the name. Wendy was standing in an elevator at the hospital. Her great grandmother had a stroke, and the family was on their way to be with her while life support was removed.

The elevator had two mirrors on either side of her. These parallel looking glasses were creating an image of eternity. The image was a repetition of both sides of Wendy. Standing there as a child experiencing death for the first time, she realized there were two sides of life.

The good side and the bad side show themselves continually into infinity. Growing larger or shrinking depending upon perspective, these sides fluctuate like a pattern destined to repeat itself. And just like that, Wendy’s back inside her head again.