Achievement Unlocked: Story Sold!!!

I'm happy to report that I've sold one of my short stories, "The Collector," to the speculative fiction magazine: Space and Time. Huzzah! Let the rejoicing begin!

I used to read this magazine a lot when I first graduated college. It's been around since just before I was born, but I didn't discover it until I was browsing through the mag racks at a local Barnes & Noble in downtown Manhattan during one of my lunch breaks. I picked it up for the catchy cover, of course. And because it was in the section with all the other big-name Speculative Fiction magazines of the time: Analog; Omni; Asimov's; The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction; etc. Those were good years to be young and possessing so much free time! *sigh*

Anyway, this is very exciting news for me to say the least! Due to personal struggles in recent years--the details of which some of you already know--I've been way behind in my writerly output. Wouldn't you know, but it's very hard to find inspiration when your life's going all topsy-turvy. It's been 5 years since my last sale, believe it or not. Something I would be ashamed of only if, in fact, I had been writing in all that time. Which I was not. Not regularly, anyway.

Still, it's a good feeling to know that things are *finally* starting to return to normal for me on the creative front. And I'm very happy that it was this particular story, "The Collector," to help me clear away the cobwebs as I get back to the grind of fiction writing again. This story is very dear to my heart, and features the first time I've ever written in the 2nd-Person narrative (think those old choose-your-own-adventure books for reference; "you open the door to the hidden room...").

"The Collector" is a tale of what happens when an ancient enemy of Mankind falls in love with a mortal woman, and has to chose between duty and happiness. I wrote it a few years ago, revised it a couple of times, sent it out to various places last year, got it rejected by all those places, sat on it for a few more months, polished it off some more, and then finally found a publication willing to buy it off me.

As they say, perseverance pays off!

Space and Time Magazine marks my first foray into semi-pro payment markets, which typically pay 1 - 5¢/word on short stories. Before now, all my sales have been to so-called "token" markets, which usually don't rate per word, but instead only pay a nominal amount of between $5 - $35 per story. Which ain't bad when you're starting out, and I guess you have to start somewhere. But it had always been my goal to keep advancing my game up the pay scale as I practice my craft, and so I have done just that with this sale. I love progress!

Also, my previous sales have all been to electronic-only markets. Which means: online sites only. This recent sale will mark the first time a story of mine will appear in an honest-to-goodness print publication. And that, my friends, is very nice!

And there you have it. The good news I wanted to share. I've known about this for several months now, but only today did I read through my contract, sign it, and send it off to the publisher. So I guess that makes it official! I had to write a little author's bio as well, which was certainly surreal for me. So much has changed since the last time I had to write one back in 2010. Wow!

As of right now, there has been no specific issue number or date relayed to me for when exactly my story will appear in Space and Time. This has yet to be determined by the publisher. But once that changes, you'll definitely be the first to know about it here on The Bimillennial Man.

And, one last thing: Thank you to all my regulars here, silent or otherwise -- some of whom are part of my crit group -- who have always supported me and suffered through some early drafts of previous stories I've shared. It truly means a lot to me. You all do!

Onward and upward, y'all!

Channeling Crazy Dreams Into Creative Projects

About a month ago I posted this update here about one of my short stories that had been based on a strange, Vicodin-fueled dream of mine. And although I never did sell the damn thing, I still consider it one of my better tales.

Well, looks like I've been inspired by Mr. Sandman all over again. Just, this time, minus the drugs.

Last night I had a pretty wicked dream, one that unfolded like a Stephen King story. It wasn't as wild and deranged as you might expect though, but I thought it to be quite interesting nonetheless. I woke up from it in the early morning hours before the sun had even risen. It was such a great idea for a story that I jumped out of bed and rushed into our den to dictate the dream into my iPhone.

But something told me to sit down and power up the PC, which I did. And instead of reciting the bare bones of a cool sci-fi/horror blend short story, I ended up cranking out a full-fledged outline in quick hand without pause. When I was done, I sat back and blinked, surprised that the sun had risen in the meantime. Whoa, that was intense! Somehow I had managed to perfectly capture the main essence of the dream, while at the same time roughing out the skeleton of a compelling 3-part narrative in the process.

I felt shocked. I felt proud. I felt . . . AMAZING! I went back to my pillow with a smile, but was too excited thinking about plot points to resume sleep.

Has this ever happened to you writers out there? Isn't it the most incredible feeling, like, EVAR?

When eventually I did get up for the day and finished eating breakfast, I immediately locked myself away in the den and proceeded to pound out 1,000 words of the initial draft. I get the feeling this will be one of my shorter tales, so it's possible I'm already 1/4th of the way through. It certainly feels like I'm moving along nicely. After I finish the first draft and maybe a second, I'll return to that ever progressing novel of mine. Don't worry, that's still moving along nicely. I'm not neglecting it.

I love writing!

Anyway, switching to different gears . . . if you notice my "Now Playing" sidebar on the right of the page, I've started up that game I mentioned a few months back:

I've been heavily invested in this title pretty much since the very moment I slid the disc into my Playstation 3 last week. I didn't think I would get drawn in so completely by it, but I did. The story just sucked me in LIKE THAT! This is why I love the end of the year. I get to choose from among all the great titles I didn't have time to try out during the year, and pick the one that looks like it will be the most fun. This Christmas season, as it was back in 2009, that game turned out to be an Uncharted title. And in this adventure, Nathan Drake and his compatriots travel from the London underground (literally), to a run-down medieval estate in France, to a Crusades-era castle in Syria, and now to the Arabian desert. All in search of a forgotten city of treasure lost beneath the sands.

This, for me, is the type of stuff that fuels my dreams. Which in turn fuels my writing. It's a neat "circle of life" approach to creativity, don't you agree? And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now if I can only discipline myself to write when I need to write, and play when I need a break. But that's every writer's dilemma, I know. :)

Tomorrow I return to work since being gone for two weeks. I'm actually looking forward to a return to my normal schedule. Funny how that happens, huh?

Have a great week, guys!

That Time I Dreamed Of Talking Flowers . . .

©2010-2011 Karin Charlotte

Over at the Economic Disconnect, my good buddy GYSC waxes nostalgic about the joys of taking prescribed painkillers, and cautions why it's perhaps not the best time to perform even basic automotive maintenance while under their, er, spell. In the comments section, I mentioned I have my own cautionary tale to tell--which coincidentally also came about from being prescribed painkillers after surviving a sometimes harrowing, though rudimentary, dental procedure.

It was late January, 2007. I was 30 years old and going in for my first major surgical procedure of my life. Fortunately, it was a routine wisdom tooth extraction. Unfortunately, I had opted to get all 4 removed at once! Pretty much since the age of 12 onward I would experience periodic and quite painful gum swelling at the rear of my mouth, just behind the last molars. One time, even, a small space opened up and got infected back there. I needed penicillin that time, and oh how my pee smelled terrible for the next 2 weeks or so!

There was a brief time during and just after college when I had no medical or dental insurance, so I went a few years longer than I should have without regular checkups. But finally, just as I was starting to take all facets of my health more seriously as I entered my 30s, all this negligence caught up to me right quick! In 2006, I learned that some of my wisdom teeth had not come through the gumline completely, and that in fact one of them was actually impacted. A visit to the oral surgeon confirmed that I would need to have all my wisdom teeth removed at some point, and preferably sooner rather than later.

I agreed to the sooner option, and all at once. I hate when jobs are left incomplete, don't you? It's a pet peeve of mine. So I insisted on this. I also insisted that I not be put under, since this is a rule I live by until it becomes absolutely impossible to maintain. If there is an option, in other words, I will never agree to be put under. I simply cannot abide the thought of losing that kind of control even for a mere second, if I can help it.

For some reason, the surgeon didn't seem to think this would be a problem. I know some of you might be thinking I'm crazy right about now. But I actually have a VERY high pain threshold. And I figured that, plus the novacaine, would be enough for me.

And you know what? I was right! No shit.

Yes, I know you were expecting a different outcome. One filled with blood, curses, and prodigious amounts of screaming, right? Well, sorry to disappoint. The entire procedure, once the surgeon rolled up his sleeves and got to work, only lasted 25 minutes. It would have been faster, in fact, if not for the very last tooth getting caught around a nerve ending. The surgeon had to be more delicate with that situation, obviously, and ended up busting the tooth up into little pieces with a drill first, before gingerly removing each chunk by hand.

The entire time I barely felt a thing. I could feel the tug at my jaw as he wrenched each tooth out with those huge pliers, and the crunching sound that ensued was pretty awesome to my ears as well. But, honestly, I felt not even one moment of piecing pain. To this day, I have no idea what people go on about when they talk about the horror of getting wisdom teeth removed. Especially since so many opt to be put under and wouldn't remember the pain anyway. Go figure on that one.

Anyway, after all was said and done, I was given the drill (not literally) on how to keep rinsing out my mouth at home with slightly salted water, flushing the empty sockets out with this water pic type device, and taking my percocet pills on a regular schedule.

At first I didn't think I would even need the pills. The local hadn't worn off yet and, except for the huge wad of gauze inside my mouth, I felt perfectly fine.

And then I came home, and the anesthetic wore off!

Yeah, I felt true pain then. Enough for me to run for the pills. And oh how it hit me, that blasted percocet! At first I felt nothing. Then gradually over the course of a few minutes the pain began to subside. Pretty soon I was feeling fine. A little too fine, perhaps. Then I got sleepy, so I took a nap.

What happened next is too graphic and surreal for me to adequately describe here. My head was spinning, first off. And somehow that had me spiraling down, Alice In Wonderland-style, through the looking glass of a demented Tim Burton-esque experience. I was floating high, I was floating low. Angry colors assaulted me as if they were real, breathing people, and then the happy colors came and chased them away. I heard voices far and near, echoing as if through canyons.

And then the talking flowers showed up. They had a lot to tell me, the petaled folk. I can't say I remember exactly how the conversation went, but I know it was fairly deep. I was being told secrets of the universe I really should have tried harder to retain.

Anyway, next thing I knew I was waking up three hours later from what was supposed to only be a thirty-minute nap. The fuck?

But the last vestiges of that crazy dream was still there, floating around on a euphoric, rainbow-hued cloud in the back of my head. Quickly, before it all vanished, I ran to my PC and started cranking out the hasty outlines of a brand new short story. The concept was bizarre and unlike anything I had conceived up to that point, but already the effects of the drug-fueled dream were fading fast. I managed to get all the important bits down, and then I took another nap.

It wasn't long after that I switched from percocet to maximum strength Tylenol instead. Yes, it meant that I would have to deal with a little more pain . . . but at least my head stayed clear and free of talking plant matter. Honestly, the freaky dreams were cool in that they provided me with great writing material. But the vertigo and spinning rooms I could do without. I really don't know how people get addicted to this stuff, because it quite frankly scared the shit out me.

Anyway, once I could think clearly I sat down and started to type out the story proper. It turned into a pretty long story, in fact, and was very bizarre. Several critiques and revisions later, I had a final draft that I tried to shop around. It got rejected to hell and back again, and eventually I trunked the behemoth.

But this is what blogs are for: to dredge up old ghosts of stories past. If you would like to read the story that resulted from my brief brush with Rock 'n' Roll fun, click here to get to it. Alternatively, you can also find the story, titled "Ascending the Sending Road," by checking out my Unpublished Short Stories sidebar on the upper right-side portion of this blog.

Give it a read if you feel like it, and then come back here and leave comments. But don't feel obligated to. It's a lengthy read at over 30 pages long, so I'll understand if you take a pass.

And also, remember . . . DON'T DO DRUGS!!!

Last Night I Flew Again

Or, maybe it was early this morning. I can never tell.

Anyway, I had the most interesting of dreams last night. I, and two other unnamed friends, were trapped in a world where humans had been enslaved by vampires. In this dream, I remember being in a dark urban alley, where the tenement buildings all around me soared to skyscraper heights. It was as if I was in the Bronx (where I still live to this day), but all the buildings were as tall as the Empire State building now.

And I had to get out of there! For some reason, I was supposed to rendezvous with my friends at some big deal vamp hangout spot. So I started to rise up from the ground, higher and higher toward the sky. As I flew upward, hands reached out from the windows of the apartments all around me. They were human slaves, begging for me to bite them and give them the "gift" that would make them immortal. They were the downtrodden, living in ghettos meant to keep them down. Vampires were the elite, and these people were assuming that since I could fly, I was a vampire too.

But I was not.

So, not knowing how to help these people, I rose higher and higher until I was above the rooftops under a brilliant white moon. As usual when I fly in my dreams, I felt so free and wondrous up there -- all alone and removed from it all. But then I remembered my purpose, and started to fly in the direction of where I was to meet my friends. I remember being afraid that the real vampires would see me flying and come after me, so I hurried.

Eventually I discovered that the "hang out" of these elite vamps was this posh NYC-type restaurant at the top of the tallest tower in the city. Again, everyone assumed I was a vampire since I flew in rather than took the stairs, so I didn't have any trouble getting in. When I got to the table on the terrace where my friends were already waiting (who, curiously, still remained nameless and faceless) I got the impression that they had been able to get in by pretending to be my human thralls. One friend, a girl, had somehow faked puncture wounds on her wrist and wore makeup to appear more like a person who's been drained regularly.

Freaky!

Anyway, we started talking about why we were on this world. Apparently we were inter-dimensional travelers come to liberate this world from the vamps. So, from that I took that this dream had sci-fi leanings, and not strictly horror. I still don't know how I was able to fly--except that I always have the ability to fly in my dreams. I wrote about this peculiarity before here on this blog.

Anyway, some officious looking vamps came in and asked to see our credentials or something. But just as the dream was getting good, my alarm clock woke me up and I realized I had to get to work.

Don't you just HATE when that happens?

LOL! Anyway, that was my interesting dream this morning. Or last night. And, yes, for me this dream was a lot of fun and not scary. Nightmares for me don't involve vampires or zombies and such. Those types of dreams are always fun. No, real nightmares are if I dream about, like, losing my job or where I get kicked out onto the street and have to find shelter somewhere. Those are the dreams I don't want to be having. But any dream where I get to fly is a lot of fun. I love flying so much! It's the only superpower I've ever wanted. Well, that and invincibility. Since, after all, it would suck balls if I could fly at mach 5 and then end up slamming into a bird, or a jet, or a building or something and breaking my neck. What would be the fun in that, huh?

So, yeah, in case you didn't already know . . . I'm weird.

Or, as I like to say: I'm an SF writer! You didn't think we all dream normal mundane dreams now, did you? Tsk, tsk.

How Would You Like A Reset Button On The Last 16 Years?

At least, that was the going theme for the weird dream I had last night. Here's how it went:

For some inexplicable reason (in the dream, it didn't seem to matter how), I woke up to find myself back in 1994. December of 1994, to be precise. Actually, to be even more exact . . . it was just after I had completed my Fall semester of freshman year at college. I was back home for the holidays and reconnecting with family and friends. The funny thing was, my dream self *knew* that I had somehow gone back in time. 18 yr old me had all the memories of 34 yr old me!

Like I said, weird huh?

While I was dreaming, though, this seemed like a nightmare at first. I mean, this meant that I would have to redo all the hard work I had put into obtaining my degree! But then, during the course of the dream (which only lasted 9 minutes in real world time), I started to realize what a boon this really was. It meant that I could do things differently that had not turned out so hot in my past. Decisions which, in hindsight, were not the best ones I could have made. With this redo, I now had the luxury of setting things right!

I'm not going to go into what exactly those decisions might be. That would take a far, far longer post than I feel like writing right now. But it was a heady feeling for me, knowing that I could affect my future since I already knew what was coming.

Curiously, though, most of the dream was actually about me spending time with my brother and my best friends. Basically I came to the conclusion that I should have been doing more of that back then, I guess. But hey, it was a big time for all of us. In 1994, our lives were spinning wildly into the future as we came of age and entered the adult world. I guess a part of me was yearning for a time when we were all still just kids having a blast.

Towards the end of the dream was when it started to dawn on me all the interesting things I could really do now that I was 18 again and it was 1994. I mapped out the remainder of my college years, dropping all the useless classes I really shouldn't have taken and only focusing on the ones I knew were necessary for my major. Gone then was Calculus II, which I absolutely hated and which almost destroyed my brain in 1995. I also added in some classes I had never taken but which I'd always wanted to try at the time. Courses in astronomy and more advanced philosophy, for instance.

But just before the alarm rung for the third time this morning, the dream *really* got good! I realized: Hey, why not invest in all the companies that future me already knows are going to be huge down the line? Imagine all the money I could make investing in such startup companies like Dell and (eventually) Google? Not to mention more established companies like Apple and Microsoft? Now, yeah, I'm completely ignorant when it comes to investing. That should go without saying, for those who know me. But the great thing about a redo to life is . . . you have plenty of time to learn new things!

But, alas. Just as I was about to go sign up for some econ classes, the dream ended. Aww, damn. I could've made a killing!

Well, it was fun while it lasted, huh?

How about you? What would you do if you were suddenly transferred into the body of your younger self back in 1994? Or, hell, what if you could be 18 again, whenever that might have been? Would this be a blessing to you, or a curse? I know some of you out there might not be as enthusiastic about this prospect as I seem to be. Especially those of you with children, since there would be no guarantee that you would have the same exact kids you have now.

But, please, do feel free to sound off in the comments section below. I would love to hear what others have to say on this.

Son Of A---!

So I'm still researching for my upcoming "pretend" novel, as first mentioned here, when lo and behold a new idea for a short story pops into my head. Great, just what I don't need! I had specifically told myself not to do this. Put all short stories aside for the time being, I said. We need all the brain cells we can spare for the BIG daddy of projects.

But apparently my subconscious didn't get the memo between me and myself. I had the weirdest dream this morning, full of confusing imagery and suggestive themes. So, of course, my dreaming self thought: Hey, wake up! This would make a great story! And when I woke up, the sane side of me had to actually agree.

And so here I am. Because I couldn't get the really cool idea out of my head while I showered, I quickly hopped on the PC and wrote out the very first scene before work. It turned out pretty good. I just finished writing the second scene a little while ago, and now I'm well on my way.

So, the bad news is that my novelization is put on hold momentarily. The good news is, I'm still writing. Since this is only a short story, it will be over shortly (heh, heh--get it?). And then I can get back to this business of writing my book.

I can think of worst ways to be interrupted.

The Boy Who Could Fly

Ever since I can remember, I've always had the ability to fly in my dreams. I don't know what it is, but since early childhood, no matter what form or scenario my dreams take, more often than not I end up flying at some point. If an angry mob is chasing me, I'll run down the block and launch into the air. If I'm in the middle of an awkward moment, I'll leap out the window and sail away. But usually I fly in my dreams just to do it. You know, for fun.

I can't describe how freeing it feels. It's a sensation that I wake up with just wishing I could somehow go back, if only to experience it one moment longer.

Funny thing is, my flight capabilities have been fraught with turbulence over the years, starting off as a struggle in my childhood and developing to a more smooth, controlled ability as I grew older. I've always been fascinated by just what this evolution means in terms of my psyche.

As a kid, flying in my dreams was more as a means of escape. Escape from people chasing me, escape from embarrassing social scenarios (the classic naked at school motif), or a more general escape from the life I had at the time. In these moments, taking to the air was a desperate struggle, not unlike learning how to swim. In fact, swimming was the earliest analogy my dream flights took. In order to gain altitude, I would literally have to wave my arms in a fluid, circular motion similar to a breaststroke. I would stroke and stroke, straining against powerful gravitational forces to rise higher. Often the results were only a meager flight of about a hundred feet and perhaps several yards across. Enough to get me away from danger, but just barely.

Eventually the "swimming" came easier, and I no longer woke up feeling like I had just run a few laps around the track. However, although gravity was no longer my foe, it was perhaps too indulgent a companion in my teenage years. For now I had the opposite problem in my dreams. I encountered no resistance taking to the skies, which presented a dilemma as I would rise and rise with no way to stop my ascent. So picture my dream self, rising ever upwards into the stratosphere--into lower orbit, actually!--feeling the air grow thin and gasping for breath as I tried desperately to halt my ascent. I would try flapping my arms, twisting, even turning upside down in an attempt to fly towards the ground. These dreams usually ended with me waking up, gasping for breath. I often felt like I was drowning. Since I once almost did drown, I knew the feeling all too well.

Eventually, though, as I grew older and especially when I neared high school graduation, my dream flights became more controlled. I could lift into the air at the drop of a hat, rise as high as I wanted to go, and stop on a dime in midair as if applying brakes. I could even alternate my speeds--something I could never do before. Now I could float stationary above the streets, or out-fly jet planes in the sky if I chose to. Usually I would just spend the rest of the dream, no matter how it began, flying through the city or over the countryside.

Once I reached this threshold where the skies were literally no limit for me, I noticed the flight ability started to crop up in more and more of my dreams. What had once been an odd occurrence in my little boy dreams when I was 7 or 8 had developed into an almost nightly event by the time I was in college. And even now as an adult I can say at least 65% of my dreams contain some incident of me flying. And my control is uncanny, approaching lucid levels.

What does this all mean? I wish I knew. I know of others who fly in their dreams, but not at the frequency or ability that I can. Because of this, I've always been fascinated by characters and movies dealing with personal flight. Not airplane or skydiving (i.e., mechanical) flight, but actual intrinsic flight like what birds can do. Superman was the obvious and earliest affinity for me, as were cartoon characters like Mighty Mouse. The TV show My Secret Identity--about a teenage boy who wakes up one day floating 8 feet above his bed and discovers that he has super powers like his favorite comic book heroes--was perhaps the highlight of my junior high school years. I was so JEALOUS of that guy!

Then there was the movie The Boy Who Could Fly, which I hold very dear to my heart even to this day. The closing scene where the boy finally reveals his ability and flies through the suburban neighborhoods resonated with me. Again, I *wished* I could do this in real life and not just in dreams!

So, do you think I'm certifiable?

And no, I don't think I was some kind of aviator in a prior life. :-) As I've said before, it's not mechanical flight that attracts me. Although, I must say I do get such a thrill riding airplanes and imagining that it's just me up there . . . with the wind whipping past me and clouds stretched out *below* me! Needless to say I definitely don't have a fear of airplanes, or of heights for that matter. The higher I can go, the better. One of these days I want to parachute out of a plane so that, even if just for a few seconds of freefall, I can just *imagine* that I'm actually flying.

Wow, what a rush that would be! One of these days . . .

Anyway, is anyone out there good at interpreting dreams? Do you dream of flying, too? Or do your dreams reveal a different hidden super power about you? I would like to know.

I'm A Terrible Driver (In My Dreams)

I don't know if this is one of those things everybody suffers from, or if it's just me . . . but I suck at driving in my dreams. I just had one last night where I was riding a motorcycle (a choppper, to be precise, which is a first for me). But just like every other dream where I drive a car, I could not get the breaks to work right. I don't know what this says about me, but car brakes never work in la-la land. Whenever there's a stoplight up ahead and I apply pressure to the breaks, the car keeps going for another 20 feet before coming to a gradual stop. Problem is, I'm crashing into someone else's rear bumper before those 20 feet are up.

This probably sums up the entirety of my dreamtime driving frustrations. It's always about me slamming my foot down as hard as I can on the brake pedal, over and over, trying to get the damn car to stop. But it never does. It never does.

Any dream interpreters out there? What does this mean? I used to have a similar problem with running in my dreams. Except, the problem there was not being able to run fast enough. Running in dreams is like running through mud -- no matter how hard I try, I can never run fast enough to chase down the bad guy or escape an attacker. Lately, tho, this has changed. I'm now able to run almost as fast as I can in real life. I think I've been doing a little bit of lucid dreaming on that count.

But the driving thing is still a bust for me! Go figure. Just for the record, I don't have the same issues with driving in real life. :-)