Here’s my second blogpost for Alicia Chenaux’s annual “Big Bad Blogger Challenge”. For this post, I thought I’d insert one picture and create a story around it. I may do this for the remainder of the BBBC (I feel like a news anchor with a stuttering issue). And I may connect the story from day to day…or not. We’ll see! In any event, I wouldn’t be surprised if this approach has been done before, since, in some ways, there’s not much new under the sun. But for me the thought to do this actually stems from the NaNoWriMo experience combined with Botgirl’s recent plurk about interpretting life like one would a dream. I have a hunch therein lay an interesting process for tapping into creativity in a different way, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. UPDATE to this intro: But really truly where I first saw this approach, “spontaneous narrative” as Dale refers to it? You bet, smiles widely. From Dale and his wonderfully creative webblog story from earlier this year: “Chapter XXVII The Hollow Earth” .
Here then is the first in the dream sequence:
A piece of her memory had seeped out. And it had felt very wet. It ran in waves down the seam of her gown as she lay in the water. Then, when the last remnants of her leaking memory pooled itself into a lulling mass just barely within her grasp, her brain began to whirl its gears.
“Criminey” she thought to mutter outloud when that small thought – the only remaining thought somehow still attached to her disconnected memory – had fully formed itself into her awakening brain. She was thankful some kind of consciousness had asserted itself. And when it had, so did she.
“Criminey,” Dawn (ironically) whispered as she lifted her torso up and leaned into her elbows. They were covered in water and sinking into the sand, but somehow that felt good. She looked to the east and flicked her eyelashes in an effort – feeble though it was – to shield her optics from the early morning rays. The light had what Dawn would call an “obnoxious” effect of broadcasting rather loudly to her coffee-seeking brain that she had no explanation for why she now found herself washed ashore like a beached whale.
“Heh,” she snickered. “In a very fine gown hugging a curvy shape, thank you very much,” she muttered to the earth as she looked around, then quickly added to the sun as she studied it for answers, “Perhaps I’m still dreaming.”
If Dawn didn’t know any better, she could have sworn the sun had winked back in response. But clearly Dawn didn’t know any better. The only thing she seemed to know in this moment was that she was dripping wet from head to toe, so she did what any reasonable person would do. She rose. Indeed, Dawn rose. She rose to meet the day head on. Stood face to face with the promises in its light, to its secrets in its darkness and resolved herself to discovering those secrets. In particular, that particular set of secrets claimed most prominently by velvety nights.
It was there, Dawn thought to herself. She stood still as a statue, canvassed slightly by the tall swaying reeds, and lifted her fingertips to her lips as if something dwelled there. “There,” she murmurred and searched the tip of her tongue for a memory just beyond her grasp.
Note: I’m using the last six photos that I uploaded to flickr as the basis for this dream series, and using them in the order of upload. All photos were taken at the elven-themed sims Dark Moon and Angelgate.