So Let It Be Written

Have I mentioned that I’m going to have something I’ve written printed? “Big deal,” you say? Well, it is for me. Here’s how it happened accidentally one Wednesday morning last Autumn while I was at the dry cleaner’s picking up some shirts…

The writer’s site Accentuate Services was holding a series of contests. They threw out a theme and people submitted short stories. The stories were sent out to 3^rd-party judges. The winners were compiled for an anthology.

I never had time to finish any of my … let’s say brilliant since they were never finished and won’t be published … short stories for the contests. However, as filler between the four sections of the book, Accentuate held poetry contests, too.

You’re asking, “Can this idiot write poetry?” The answers is, “Apparently he can.” I find it an excruciating process though. Writing poetry, good or even decent poetry, is hard. Much harder than you’d think. For all my effort, I like to think that I won 2^nd prize in a beauty contest like the Monopoly game community chest card because the prize was $10. Ten dollars and the pride of seeing something I’ve written in a lovely, hard-cover binding.

I’ve had things printed before, but those were usually because I was the only one dumb enough to volunteer for my high school newspaper and yearbook.

So the short story of these short stories is that you can pre-order the anthology, Elements of the Soul. If you order now, you can save the S&H&Tax ($13 US). I’ve read most of the winners as they were announced and can say without reservation, you will love it. Go on. What else were you going to do with that 13 dollars?

Order Elements of the Soul here and save the S&H&Tax fees. Ten percent of the profits are donated to literacy programs too. So you can have a heart while you enjoy a good read.

Oh, and enjoy my poem. It’s about lost childhood and innocence and trying to recapture the same. My mom even has it on her refrigerator so you know it’s good.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

My wife is a believer in dreams. I don’t mean she has lofty aspirations or inspirational goals. I’m talking about the fuzzy images her brain generates while she is asleep. Many the morning I’ve awakened to cold, peering eyes watching me from her side of the bed. Those are the mornings when I know, some how, some way, I’ve been up to no good in her dreams … and I’m about to hear about it.

A common scenario involves her dreaming that we are both back in high school, wherein my dreamy doppelganger is ignoring her and is putting the teenage moves on some other girl. On those mornings, my coffee is less tasty while I hear about what a cad I am … er … was in high school. Not the high school of 30 years ago, but the high school of 30 minutes ago when she was dreaming. It’s all very confusing for me.

I only know one thing. At some point during my shower that morning, the water will suddenly burst forth in a jet of steam when my wife exacts her revenge by flushing the toilet for no other reason than to scald me … er … my dream self … er … but my flesh self still has first-degree burns. It’s all very confusing for me.

My sly male brain concocted a plan. I would tell her I had a dream. Her strong belief in the validity of dreams would compel her to follow up on my dream. It was a perfect plan, until I put it into action.

I set it up one morning with, “G’morning, Dear Heart. I love you. Wow! I had a dream last night.” Step one. Interest piqued.

“What did you dream?” Her reply fell right into my trap.

“It was a wild sex dream.” Bait dangled. Of course, she must know if she was part of my dream.

“Was I in it?” Bait taken. Now to snuggle up close and seal the deal.

“Of course sweetheart. Who else would be in my sex dreams but you?” Get ready to call work and tell them I’ll be late…

“That counts then. We’re good for another week.” Damn you, twisting female logic! At least I could take my shower as cold as necessary after my failed plan.

Today’s lesson: reach for your dreams with an open hand in case you have to pimp slap a brother on the way.