High School Reunions
October 15, 2024 by Renae Wrich in category Writing tagged as Childrens Lit, dreams, high school, High school reunion, Mac and CheeseThis year signifies that it’s been 20 years since I graduated from high school. I can’t believe it’s been two decades since I sat in English class dreaming of someday becoming a writer. There are so many things I’d tell my 17 year old self, but the most important thing would be that the best is absolutely yet to come.
So of course when a 20 year milestone is upon us, we are faced with the decision to either attend the reunion, or to sit at home and wonder what it would have been like to attend the reunion. I weighed the decision carefully, but ultimately I decided to put my brave girl pants on and drag my husband with me to the townie bar in my hometown to face my high school classmates.
I’m glad I went for a number of reasons, the biggest one being that it was honestly really nice to talk with people I hadn’t seen in a very long time and to make some new connections. But imagine my surprise when I walked in and discovered that reunion organizers showcased the various businesses and crafts of our class, including my book! I was so touched to see that they had purchased a copy of Mac and Cheese, Please, Please, Please to display at the event.
A big thank you to the 2004 Student Council for giving M&CPPP some love at the reunion. It seriously meant so much to me. Go Cougars!
In other news, Mac and Cheese in Outer Space is in the final stages before its release. IT’S GETTING REAL PEOPLE! I have my ISBN number, the book is currently with a layout designer, and I have my beta readers all lined up as we prepare for launch. I seriously can’t wait to share this story with the world.
0 0 Read moreDreamcatcher by Neetu
May 26, 2024 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as dreamcatchers, dreams, Neetu, passing storm, water lilies
Dreamcatcher
she gathers dreams that were
shattered in the last storm
fragments burnt and charred
when lightning struck, turned
an armful of hopes to ash—
she laces them into a willow hoop
torrential rain doused the fire;
shards and broken bits remained—
she spread them upon fine muslin
woven with fibers she had spun
on the wheel of an aching heart
until the storm passed and the sun
stretched out its golden arms
to weave those dreams back together
into different shapes
draped in morning dew
they shone again.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
THE CHOICE
September 25, 2023 by Kidd Wadsworth in category Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth tagged as dreams, Flying
This is a true story.
Two nights ago, I had a dream I could fly. I opened my arms wide, pulled the wind toward me and felt my feet lift off the ground. It was glorious. With my engineering-trained mind I quickly sought practical applications.
First, my husband and I went out at night—so the neighbors wouldn’t see—and I picked all of the apples, red and ripe, off the top branches, dropping them one by one into my husband’s waiting hands. Next, I inspected the flat portion of our roof. Never buy a house with a flat roof. We worry about that 10 x 10 section constantly. Then I decided to fly out to Seattle to visit my son. But about three minutes into the flight—I was traveling at approximately 10miles/hour—I realized that Seattle is 3000 miles away. That’s a 300 hour flight.
Hearing a roar overhead, I decided to fly into the clouds and hitch a ride on a passing jumbo jet.
NO!
Those things travel at 600 miles/hour. My head would get blown off.
I suppose even flying has its practical limitations.
In the final image of the dream, I was in the future and my son had a three-year-old daughter. I had volunteered to watch her for the day. As the scene opened, we were gleefully jumping on my son’s bed. Then I taught her to fly. “Open your arms, like this.” I opened my arms, “and pull the wind to yourself.” How quickly she learned.
“Flying is so much fun, Nana.”
When I woke, I immediately understood the dream. I can do the impossible. The choice is mine.
Last night, I had a second dream. I was agitated and rushed. I slipped the car into reverse, stomped down on the accelerator and backed out of the parking space so recklessly that I plowed into the car behind me one row over. Crying and distraught, I called the police and reported the accident. My silver Chevy Malibu—a huge tank of a car with bench seats and a V8—was undamaged. The next morning, again jittery and overwrought by . . . whatever . . . I backed out and hit another car. That night I hit a third vehicle in exactly the same way, this one belonging to Omar, a guide who had been helping me by showing me around town. “You totaled my car!” He grabbed his head in distress. “How am I going to get to work!”
I was taken before a judge.
“I’m so sorry. I was stupid. This is all my fault.”
She took away my driver’s license.
“I don’t know why I did this. I was just so upset and angry.”
I was sentenced to counseling. “You could have hurt someone,” she said. “When I’m satisfied you’re no longer a danger, I’ll give your license back.”
I woke. Immediately, I understood the dream. I am powerful. I can use my power to destroy things and hurt the people I love.
The choice is mine.
My power is my creativity. Most importantly my power is my writing. With my stories I can reveal truth to those who would hide from it. I can comfort the soul of a hurting person. I can unveil oppression. I can say, I understand, and I stand with you. With my stories I give my heart word-wings to fly where I cannot go. And on these wings my readers soar to longed-for futures.
Or I can ravage tender souls with hate and lust and violence.
The choice is mine.
~ Kidd Wadsworth
Kidd’s Stories are in the following anthologies
Dreams in Writing
July 25, 2023 by Kidd Wadsworth in category Infused with Meaning by Kidd Wadsworth tagged as assassins, dreams, dreams in writing, kidd wadsworth, nightmares
I woke at two in the morning from a nightmare in which I was being hunted by an assassin. In the dream, desperate to get away, I hid on the third floor of an abandoned building. I remember looking out the dirty windows and seeing the assassin below in the parking lot looking up at me. He was tracking my cell phone.
I removed the sim card and, just for good measure, smashed the phone.
Two days later, he almost caught me hiding in a bakery. The owner, an old friend, came rushing into kitchen whispering, “The man you described just walked through the front door.” I ducked out the back and hid on the fire escape. As he left, I saw him glance up at the street cams.
Damn.
I hitchhiked into the Indiana countryside. I figured I was safe among the endless fields of ten foot tall cornstalks. I was wrong. As I turned and ran, he shouted after me, “You’ll never get away, I’ve tapped into the satellites.”
That’s when I woke up. Everything was familiar: my bedroom, my sweetie softly breathing beside me. I wasn’t afraid; I was curious. How would I evade an assassin? I turned to that great fountain of wisdom, the TV. As my husband slept, I searched Netflix and Amazon Prime for a movie that would show me how to escape.
Click. Click. Click.
I clicked almost as many times as Indiana has ears of corn. Then I discovered a Bruce Lee movie! Yes! Surely, Bruce would know how to evade an assassin.
Guess what? Bruce Lee never evades. He never hides. He confronts his enemies. He turns to face them, looks them straight in the eye, and kicks butt.
That’s when I knew who the assassin was. My assassin was a family problem. Yes, I wanted to hide. And yes, I definitely wanted to smash my cell phone, but I couldn’t get away. I had to become Bruce Lee. I had to face my problem head on. I needed to look it in the eye—and kick butt.
So, why did I tell you this?
I recently read a fascinating book called Dreams: God’s Forgotten Language by John A. Sanford. I believe dreams can add depth and, strangely, genuineness to a story. But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one. You’ve got to get it right. Dreams follow certain patterns—unobvious patterns—that we all instinctively recognize. So, if you want to put a dream sequence in your story, read an authoritative book about dreams and common reoccurring images in dreams, first. Otherwise, the dream won’t read as “real.” Rather it will seem contrived, a way too convenient plot device, and pop the reader right out of the story.
BTW, I did actually dream about being hunted by an assassin, and I do think my subconscious was telling me to stop running away from my problems. I’m currently working on becoming Bruce Lee, but he’s a difficult act to follow.
Happy Writing!
Kidd Wadsworths Has Stories in the Following Anthologies
Snow Angel by Neetu
December 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as dreams, happy, Neetu, poetry, snow, snow angels
Snow Angel
I shaped you in the snow
the last time it descended
from the misty sky above
gentle flakes fluttered
settled thickly upon barren earth—
forming soft cloud comfort
I carved a dream
with my happy soul, smiling,
my eyes searched the universe
there were no stars that night–
just a crystalline radiance, in which
I molded the dream.
© Neetu Malik
