Daydreams Are The Mind’s Playground

January 28, 2019

Writers are people who write.  So I officially give myself the title of Writer and Daydreamer.

In my mind I can spin a tale and it will be in color with an MTV-like video and an original sound track.  I’ve done this for years and usually traveling long distances to dog shows starts my mind’s story reel.  The story either progresses from the last road trip I took or I start a “what if” scenario depending on what or who I see during my travels.  Some stories I’ve been spinning for years and others are new.  One story kept coming back to me over and over.  It now has a life of its own, again with music and made into a movie.

Recently I decided to write this mystery/love story from my daydreams with the intention of challenging myself to have the “book” published.  I found that day dreams are easy.  The multitude of details are glossed over since I don’t have to worry about critics saying my facts are an impossibility.  On paper, with the thought of the world reading my words I get bogged down with reality.  But I’ve written a draft with pen and paper to keep the storyline intact.

Dog shows are like a military operation; hurry up and wait your turn for several hours.  But now I write chapters of my book while around me dogs are barking and people are talking.  Occasionally I’ll find someone ringside who is an expert about a facet of my imaginary book and I’ve asked them if down the road I can pick their brain for exact details.  I’ll need to contact the police and a doctor about advice too, without looking like I’m researching a crime I’m going to commit.  I can’t wait to see the look on their face when I ask my detailed questions.  Cue the handcuffs.

At some point, maybe soon, I’ll post a draft of a chapter here, for feedback.  Can I transfer my daydreams into a logical, readable story?  It’s a scary thought.

I’ve also written a children’s book that I’d love to have published but I need an artist to fill in the visual background, someone who is comfortable drawing animals.  In my daydream it would be self published and I would have a euphoric feeling when it is sent out into the world.  Someday that project will come together.  As Captain Picard of the Star Ship Enterprise would say, “Make it so.”

Every writer has a piece of themselves in their work.  Here is a vignette that (I’m blushing) really is so much like me but in my daydream, set to this story, it has a more exciting ending than in real life.  But then that’s what makes day dreams fun and now writing this story I can show you what goes on in my sometimes offensive mind.  And you wondered why I have a smug look on my face?

She lived alone which gave her a license to swear copiously, artistically and emphatically for no reason other than to hear her own voice.  She was skilled at turning course four letter words into sixteen letter foul expressions, sometimes laughing at herself at her ingenuity.

“Wow, that’s a good one, ” She would giggle out loud to no one in the comfort of her own home.

Once in public she restrained herself, her course words spoken silently in her head.  She suspected her smug smile or sarcastic  smirk gave away her thoughts though.  But it was a game she had played for a long time and it made her happy.

She was a loner, pushing eighty, secretly rich but never flaunting her wealth, wearing old shoes and Goodwill clothes.  She blended into a crowd, unobserved, almost invisible.  People laughingly called her, “Young lady”, or softly took her arm to help her cross the street.  If someone talked patronizingly to her she called them a bitch or worse in her mind.  It wasn’t her mind that was eighty, only her appearance.

One day like any other she walked out of the neighborhood grocery store to her parked car.  Suddenly a young man in a fast-moving Subaru pulled into her path, almost knocking her to the ground.

“That little Bastard, ” Yelled an old man who ran up behind her.  “Are you alright?”

“I’ve got a .38 in my purse.  I oughtta blow the little F****”s tires out.” She snarled angrily.

He laughed and held her by the waist as she stood up.

“You are my type of woman,” He laughed.  “Can I get you some coffee over at Starbucks?”

“Hell, ya!”

It was love at first sight.