Connecting Through Dreams

 

copyright aplazar, 2015

Every night when I settle into my pillow, a strange thing happens. Just as I close my eyes and allow my brain to float...to drift...to slow down, dreams from the previous night flash before my mind's eye. Bits and pieces of vivid scenes flit and dissolve into sensations, movement, colors, buildings, and people. A sense of place evolves, and it is always the locale of the dream that I had the night before.

What's going on here? I rarely think of the dreams during the day, but when it happens, it's like a light clicks on in my head and I remember it, often in its entirety.

For example, on Monday night the most powerful dream of the evening involved me running around Salzburg. That's right, I took off for Austria in my pajamas and wandered cobblestone streets, passed high-spired churches, and drooled over delicacies in bakery windows. There was a sense of urgency that went with this dream, a searching for...something or someone. Maybe it was an apple strudel or Berliner (jelly donut). I can't remember that part. But the scenes, streets, buildings, all came back as soon as my head hit the pillow the next night. In seconds. Maybe milliseconds.

On Tuesday, I dreamed of my father. He passed eighteen years ago, and although you might think it odd, I consider these dreams "visits" with him. They are always pleasant, full of conversation, validation, and affection. In this dream, he was teaching me how to fillet a fish. Dad was a great fisherman. I guess in Heaven cleaning a fish isn't quite as gross as in real life. This fish had no stinky innards and its flesh was flakey and white, as if already grilled to perfection with lemon and plenty of butter.

On Wednesday, similar images returned before I moved on to new dreams. I saw Dad, the fish, and then swirled into a new adventure.

Is there a scratch pad memory in our brains that keeps an imprint there from the night before? The Dream RAM, or something? Maybe that's it.

Some of my best dreams—mostly the ones involving skiing on gorgeous fluffy snowy hills—come back often, months or years later. Now, see, it's extra cool because I don't downhill ski (I'm a wimp), but I do cross-country ski. Merged in these dreams are the thrilling sensations of sliding down a hill with the freedom of being upright on skis. With no fear, of course, and no falls. It's bliss.

Then there are the recurring dreams. Like the one where I can't find my locker in school, or my class schedule has disappeared and I panic.

How long has it been since I've wandered the academic hallways?

Decades.

The flying dream also recurs frequently. I cherish that one. Willing myself from my earthly bonds, I lift up, higher and higher, until with arms spread I soar across the skies. Sigh. It's the best one of all.

These connections, from night to night, as well as the connections with loved ones lost, are not dissimilar to another sensation that hits me daily.

When I'm writing a novel, I need to be in a certain zone, immersed fully in the story and in my character's mind before I can move on to the next chapter. Most of the time I write a chapter a day, and each time before I begin the next chapter I need to review the work from the day before to get into that “zone.” I ease into it, with anti-noise headphones doing their thing, relaxed in my comfy leather chair with my dogs sleeping on the rug nearby. It establishes the ground plane, and it's essential. The feeling is not unlike that dreamy quality of just-before-you-sleep drowsiness. There's a bit of a dreamlike quality to writing. After all, it's all happening through pictures in your head. Right?

Is it close to the subliminal? Do writers tap near their subconscious when they create? Is it like this for an artist or musician?

I wouldn't be surprised.

The layers of our lives are complex. Those deep-seated pockets of the subconscious, where fears from childhood fester, are not impossible to breach with focused therapy. The middle ground—the place where we dream—floats beneath consciousness and above fundamental memories, wafting like clouds waiting to descend. They're all connected.

The next time you lie down to dream, notice what happens. Can you connect the events to the night before? To a commercial you saw on TV? A dialog you read in a book? A fervent desire?

Think about it.

And remember, we're all connected. Whether through God, oxygen, atoms, the Internet, or something more ethereal and lovely, we're all connected.

Aaron Paul Lazar

www.lazarbooks.com

 

Report from Tampa Bay Comic Con

By

 

Dora Machado

 

We had a blast at the Tampa Bay Comic Con this last weekend. Along with my Twilight Times Books colleagues, Scott Eder and Maria DeVivo, we enjoyed an exuberant celebration of fantasy and science fiction in books, television, movies, and videogames. The Con was a triumph of the human imagination. It was fun, chaotic at times, but supremely entertaining. My favorite? The panels.

Maria, Scott and I sat on several panels together with authors Tracy Akers and K.L. Nappier, to discuss the best novel-to-movie adaptations, building believable worlds, and character development. It was the first time that writing panels were included at the Tampa Bay Comic Con, thanks to the efforts of Tracy Akers and Scott Eder, who organized the panels.

The result were great. Not only were the panels extremely well attended, but they were also full of clever readers who knew their fantasy, promising aspiring writers, geniuses disguised as kids, and a host of fascinating characters.

We had awesome discussions with amazing audiences. If you are a writer, consider going to a few of these. I really enjoyed hanging out with my fellow authors, meeting so many smart and interesting readers, and sharing my writing experiences with folks who love writing, reading and fantasy as much as I do.

 

 

Fellow Twilight Times Books Authors

Maria DeVivo, Scott Eder and me in the middle.

Friends and family stopped by the TTB booth.

 



 

Yours truly at one of the panels.

 

Book signing.

 

From left to right, authors Scott Eder, Tracy Akers,

K.L. Nappier, Maria DiVivo and me.

 

 

******

 

Dora Machado is the award-winning author of the epic fantasy Stonewiser series and her newest novel, The Curse Giver, available from Twilight Times Books. She grew up in the Dominican Republic, where she developed a fascination for writing and a taste for Merengue. After a lifetime of straddling such compelling but different worlds, fantasy is a natural fit to her stories.

 

When she is not writing fiction, Dora also writes features for the award-winning blog Murder By Four and Savvy Authors, where writers help writers. She lives in Florida with her indulgent husband and two very opinionated cats.

 

 To learn more about Dora Machado and her award winning novels, visit her at www.doramachado.com , email her at Dora@doramachado.com, find her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter.

 

 



 

Setting: Your Own Back Yard

copyright 2011 aaron paul lazar

Enroute to my booksigning yesterday in the Finger Lakes region of Western New York, I had the weirdest experience. For a good fifteen minutes, a burning scent filled the car. Acrid. Disgusting. But I couldn't see any source of it - either on the roadside or ahead of me. I kept checking my temperature gauge, concerned that somehow something was going wrong beneath the hood of my one year old Camry. But no smoke rose nor did any weird noises or flames erupt.

Puzzled, I zoomed south on Route 390, driving over the undulating hills with isolated touches of red or bronze flashing in the woods and fields. Fall hasn't come to our region yet, although we've had a few cold mornings lately. It was gorgeous, as always, but I still smelled that strong odor. Could there be a forest fire? Why didn't I see smoke?

I was really getting worried until I flew around a curve and saw the culprit. There, before me, was a giant truck spewing an acrid plume - and I mean PLUME - of gray smoke, so thick that when I approached I could barely see the road.

Fear gripped me, and A headline popped into my head. AUTHOR DIES IN EXPLOSION PASSING BURNING TRUCK. With renewed determination, I carefully passed him, wondering why he wasn't stopping. It was at that point that I saw flames leaping out of the open topped trailer.

How could he not know something was wrong?

I flashed my lights, beeped my horn, got by him, and promptly called 911. He didn't slow down, kept chugging along. With a prayer for his safety, I kept going after the police promised to track him down.

I have no idea what happened and whether or not the cops were able to locate him and stop him before his vehicle blew up, but man, was it scary.

Fortunately, it wasn't an omen of my day to come. On the way to the event, I started to relax again, loving the way the heavy pinot noir grapes hung on the vines in fields by the road, rejoicing in the sparkling aquamarine water of the narrow lake and the quaint cottages dotting the shore.

The booksigning at Heron Hill Winery overlooking Keuka Lake was lovely, especially after the sun came out just in time for us to witness the annual parade of the seaplanes flying low over the lake. I love this place, and I love the people who run it. They are so welcoming, it's like greeting old friends each time I visit.

The pictures above were taken outside the tent where I signed books - also where an annual Harvest Wine Tour took place. The winery is perched high on the western bluff overlooking the lake.

I had lovely conversations with wine and book lovers from all parts of the country, connecting with them in the way only readers and writers can - sharing the love of favorite authors, talking about plots and characters in the sun while sipping wine. It was pure joy.

But one resounding theme kept coming back to me. So many folks love reading about a specific setting or locale. Whether they'd attended school at Geneseo in the Genesee Valley, lived in Rochester, summer camped on the lake, or simply adored this part of the country, they all perked up when they discovered my books were based in the Finger Lakes and Genesee Valley region of New York. 

Of course, how can I blame them? There's so much beauty here, it stuns me time and time again, in spite of the fact that I live here!

A friend who suprised me with a visit yesterday said it best, actually. Paul had moved from our region a year ago to the Albany area, headed for a super job, but had to leave his home of many years. He popped into the signing with a big smile. Of course, he had to endure several bear hugs from me.

While we drank the new 2009 dry Riesling and looked over the vineyards and lake below, he mused about someday moving here. On the drive down, he said he was so overtaken by the beauty of the area, it took his breath away and made his heart swell.

I loved hearing him speak about it, because it mirrored my own passion for the area.

My characters do have excursions to Maine and Europe, and will probably tour new parts of the world in the future, but I'm glad I chose to base my books right here in my own back yard. I'm blessed to live here, and thank God every day for the beauty that surrounds me.

Where do your characters live? What settings have you chosen for your scenes? Share below in the comments section, and remember to write like the wind!

Aaron Paul Lazar
www.legardemysteries.com

P.S. We had my daughter's wedding last month in the same region, overlooking Keuka Lake. So beautiful! Above is a family photo.