Dreammaker: 2

Dr Ruiz stared at Ryan for a long moment before he spoke another word. ‘How long have you been having these dreams?’
‘I don’t know. A year, maybe.’
‘Since when did you notice that they were special perhaps?’ As he jotted down few things on the notepad. 
Ryan got off his seat and reached for the scratch on the leg of the coffee table. He licked his thumb and started rubbing at the defect as if he could erase it. 
‘It’s just a little scratch. Easy fix doctor. I can bring my kit next week and fill it up.’
‘Please sit back down, Ryan. I would like you to focus on our session right now. The table can wait.’ Ryan did as he was told and sat there staring at the glaring damage only he could see. ‘When did you notice, or rather what made you notice that these dreams were perhaps special?’
Ryan twitched, and squirmed in his seat. ‘I had a few drinks at a friends party and I saw a murder that night…’
‘A murder?’
Ryan met his gaze for the first time. Transfixed. As if a thousand thoughts were running through his head. ‘Yes,’ he began calmly. ‘She was walking home at night. She walks home every night. Takes her exactly 5 minutes from door to door. That night she closed up shop and started walking but never reached home.’
Ryan stood up uncertain. ‘He came up behind her. Too dark to see. And there was something shinny in his hand. She never heard him coming.’ He fisted his hand and brought it up slowly, high above his head, and plunged it down suddenly, as if stabbing at something. ‘Like this. He kept going till she collapsed.’
Ryan fell quiet and stared at a spot on the floor as if in search of something. ‘He severed her artery.’
It all made Dr Ruiz uneasy but he said nothing. Ryan broke his gaze from the floor and slumped back onto the sofa, only to remember his manners and straighten up. 
Dr Ruiz cleared his throat. ‘So you saw a girl get stabbed in your dream, minutes away from her home, which according to you, only takes her 5 minutes to reach?’ Ryan nodded. ‘How do you know it takes her exactly 5 minutes, Ryan?’
Ryan reached inside his jacket and brought out a notebook. He flipped through a few pages and then handed it over to the doctor. 
It was a newspaper clipping from 1997, about a young girl found 10 houses down from her home with several deep stab wounds around her neck and chest: Darling Daughter brutally slain meters from home. All the details were there, how long it took her to get home normally, what shift she was doing, the style of stabbing and the cause of death.
‘I saw the dream a year before it happened.’ Ryan volunteered. ‘I was nine years old.’ He saw the disbelief on the doctor’s face. ‘The girl’s name was Magda.’
‘Your first special dream?’ Dr Ruiz scanned the article again to try and confirm the information but there were no names mentioned in it. ‘The police never revealed her name.’


Dr Ruiz cleared his throat, trying not to look shaken at all. ‘Ok. Say it is the same girl you saw in your dreams. You still haven’t told me what made you think the dream was somewhat special?’
Ruiz scratched at his wrist, just below the leather band of his watch. It itches so bad some days he wished he could take it off, but then again it was the only thing of his dad he had left. 
‘I saw it.’
Dr Ruiz nodded. ‘That you said.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘No. I mean I saw it.’ He pointed at his two eyes with his finger. ‘I saw it.’
For the first time, Dr Ruiz felt a strange curiosity. ‘You mean, you saw it through the eyes of the attacker?’
‘No, I was the eyes.’
Dr Ruiz nodded. ‘How do you know her name, Ryan?’
‘She told me.’ He pointed at the lapel of his shirt. 
‘She wore a badge?’ The doctor noted a few things down on his note pad. 
‘Every time I saw her.’
‘So you knew her?’
For the third time that day, Ryan Priestly hesitated. ‘Yes sir. I used to dream about her.’ He waited for the doctor to say something, but then a moment later continued. ‘For a whole month.’
Dr Ruiz scribbled some more on his note pad before looking up, just in time for his secretary to pop her head in. 
‘Are you almost done, Dr Ruiz? You next patient is waiting.’
Doctor nodded at her and she closed the door. ‘Ok. Say everything is as you say, you see a dream and it comes true. Perhaps articles like these are not helping you. What I want you to do Ryan for the next month is to make a diary of every dream you have. Every single one, and on your way out, ask the receptionist to book you in for another session in a month.’
‘I need you to make them stop Doc.’
‘Yes we will. But we need to get to the bottom of these dreams and find out why you see them before that happens.’
‘But doc…’
By the time Ryan got up, Dr Ruiz was already at the door. ‘I am really sorry Ryan but we cannot extend this session out. Next time, let’s book the last session and we can go over the hour then. Good day, Ryan. Don’t forget to keep that diary and bring it with you.’
‘But doc.’
Dr Ruiz led Ryan to the foyer and collected his next patient. ‘Book in, Ryan.’
That evening, as Dr Ruiz packed up for the night, Ryan’s article suddenly came to mind. Magda? He dialed a number and waited for it to connect. 
‘Hello,’ Dr Ruiz responded. ‘I need to talk to Harry. Is he there?’

The Dreammaker

The doctor waltzed into his office with a swing in his step. His spectacles sitting on the bridge of his nose as he swiveled around once in the room. He eyed Priestly from over the top of his glasses and warmly smiled. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll just get myself ready.’

Priestly stepped into the office with a little more than disdain for what he was about to do. 

‘Do close the door,’ the doctor rumbled around his desk without a glance. ‘I take it this is your first visit to our clinic?’

Priestly eyed the shiny brown leather chairs around a small comfortable little coffee table. He had been expecting a chase of some sort where he would be made to lie down and divulge his deepest darkest fears. He looked rather lost when the doctor joined him with a note pad and pen. 

‘Please sit.’ Priestly did as he was told and the chair squeaked beneath him. ‘So this is your first visit with us?’ The doctor sat in the opposite chair. ‘Have you ever seen a psychologist prior to this?’ 

Priestly shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Right,’ the doctor put down his tools and turned his full attention to his patient. ‘So what brings you here Ryan?’

‘Um,’ Priestly shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve been having…dreams.’ The doctor nodded, waiting. Priestly shifted his weight again. ‘Sometimes they seem normal…and sometimes not so.’ The doctor nodded again with a hmmph thrown it. ‘I need them to stop. The latter ones I mean.’

Doctor Ruiz pouted in thought. ‘Everyone has odd dreams. Dreams themselves are nothing more than chemical reactions in our brain while we sleep. Who knows how our brain works truly. But what makes you say some of your dreams are normal and some are not?’

‘They feel different.’

‘And how do they feel?’

Priestly stared at the doctor and then at the tip of his shoes where the leather had scuffed over the years. They needed a polish. ‘The normal ones are normal. When I wake up I feel normal.’

‘And what of the other ones?’

The scuff marks looked really bad he had to admit. If his father were around, there would be no excuses but to grab the leather polish and brush and get to work. Sign of badly kept shoes said a lot about the man who wears them. ‘The other ones make me feel sick when I wake up. Like I’ve been drinking all night and barely slept at all.’

Hmm. The doctor nodded once more. ‘And would you have been drinking the night before on such occasions?’

Priestly narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t drink doctor.’ Not since the accident ten years ago, he thought. 

‘Is there anything else different about these dreams other than that they make you feel sick in the morning?’

‘Yes.’ Priestly diverted his eyes to the rug beneath his shoes, trying to find faults in it. ‘They feel real.’

‘You mean they are vivid?’ Priestly nodded. He couldn’t see the rug at fault. ‘And how often do you have these?’

‘Sometimes couple a week, sometimes nothing for months.’

‘Have you noticed any particular things that coincide with these occurrences? For example, stress at work, a fight with a family member, or you’re over tired etcetera?’ 

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’

‘So you have these random vivid dreams every so often without an obvious trigger. What happens in these dreams?’

Priestly stared at the light scratch he found on the leg of the coffee table and it irked him. Why hadn’t he brought his tool kit with him. It was an easy fix. ‘Different things. 

‘Like what? Give me an example.’

‘Sometimes I see happy things. Like the lotto winner, or the parents who found their lost kid, or a child who got his favorite toy in a gift.’ 

Priestly shifted his weight again and his gaze drifted back to the scratch. ‘And sometimes I see bad things.’

‘Bad things?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. Like someone lost his mum’s wedding ring, or a man broke his bone in a car crash, or a woman jump to her death. They feel so real.’

The doctor remained quiet for a long moment. ‘But these are dreams, Ryan. Simple chemical reactions in your brain.’

Priestly looked up to the doctor finally. ‘You ever heard the news about that elderly woman down in town who got robbed at knife point in a parking lot for 50 bucks, Doctor Ruiz? That she actually passed away after the incident was reported to the police from a heart attack?’ The doctor nodded. 

Priestly smile turned into a frown. ‘I dreamt that the night before.’

‘You dreamt it?’

‘Exactly as it happened.’ He nodded. ‘You remember that couple who got lost bushwalking last month? They were found almost a week later?’ Dr Ruiz nodded. ‘I dreamt it a week before it happened.’

‘Exactly as it happened?’

Priestly nodded. ‘I need you to stop them for me.’


Because, I don’t wanna die. Priestly stood up calmly. ‘I’m tired of having them. I just want to sleep.’

Ebony & Frank: 14

Ebony & Frank: 14

It was the first time since the renovation had started on her place at the hands of the two boys that Eb was alone. She had a task to keep her busy the whole day. Task to keep her mind occupied and away from things she no longer remembered . The ghostly gossamers in her mind weaving in and out of her days like snippets of a past she was desperate to figure out. But it would be a lie if she said that was all the she wanted to keep from her mind; the images of what had happened between her and Frank that the too many iced teas had robbed her of. She didn’t really need to think about either. 

Clad in old trackies and a loose jumper, both of which had once belonged to Niko, Eb dipped the roller brush to the paint tray and continued painting the living room wall. ‘Walls first and then floor.’ Niko had dropped off supplies and the paint she had ordered. ‘You don’t need to finish anything, but if you think you can start without us, go on. We will join you after work.’

She had been at it for a little over half hour and every so often she felt she were looking through a window. Snippets of broken memory messing with her vision ahead of her. Sometimes she were painting the wall, sometimes she could see a large canvas ahead. Sometimes the streaks were straight lemon-yellow up and down the wall and sometimes, it were a mixture of other colours and shapes. 

‘Easy does it, Ebony. Whenever you get these flashbacks of memory, just don’t strain yourself to focus on them. Once they start, they will slowly unfold to you. Let them.’ The doctor from the home had said many times whenever she felt she wasn’t trying hard enough. That time when she’d seen the red barn doors, she had tried so hard to piece it together only to loose her wits when nothing more unfurled. 

‘Watch the brush strokes. Careful with the coats. One layer, then the next.’ She mumbled to self, surprised at how familiar the activity felt. ‘Keep going. You’re doing good.’

Eb dipped the brush once more and turned back to the wall. Up and down.

‘Looking good. Just make sure you are all paying attention to the shadows and how they curve with the object!’ A distant echo rang in her mind. A figure, male circled around her and others in a sun flushed large room. His hands held behind his back as he stopped at her stand. He pointed at the underside of the apple she was painting. ‘See here, the apple actually has a sliver of light just before the shadow starts. Pay attention to those lights within the shadows.’

He smiled. The only thing that seemed to be in focus. ‘The rest is not too bad.’ The image dissolved back into the lounge room. Her roller brush in hand. She’d stopped mid stroke. Confused. She stared at the tray of paint, then at the lemon-yellow wall. ‘I can paint?’

‘You most definitely can’t paint!’ Niko hollered at the wall. The wall and a half that she had managed to paint during the day was uneven and the streaks slanting. ‘And what kind of colour did you choose? It’s so YELLOW!’

Eb shrugged, wolfing down her sandwich. 

‘You gotta change the colour. I refuse to help with this.’ Niko dusted his palms and sat down on the floor in his overalls. 

Eb turned to Frank for support. It was the first time in two days that she’d looked him in the eye, or rather his face. ‘You don’t like it either?’

‘Its…it’s nice. Reminds me of, well, lemons.’ But Frank’s grimace gave way. 

Eb leaned across the counter. ‘I ordered it over the phone.’

‘Lesson number uno. Don’t buy anything relating to this house without either Frankie or myself here.’ Niko grabbed his esky and pulled out cold beers and a cider for her. ‘Lesson number two…’

‘Don’t let Niko make all the rules.’ Frank interjected. Refusing to take the beer. ‘Your house, your rules.’
‘You’re going?’

He looked at her through narrowed, questioning eyes. ‘I’m tired as a dog. I can take you to the hardware store tomorrow afternoon. G’night.’
‘Did I miss something?’ Niko looked from one to the other.

Frank shook his head. ‘Was at the Barrister’s today.’

‘Ah’ comprehension dawned on Niko’s face but Eb failed to understand. ‘Go home mate. I got Ebony.’ 

Once Frank had left and the door shut, she turned to the man on the floor. ‘What’s with a barrister?’
Niko twisted open his second beer. 

‘Nada. Not a barrister. The Barristers. They are a family further up from town. The man used to be the Mayor once upon a time.’

‘What about them then?’

‘I keep forgetting you are new to town, aye?’ Niko looked up from his food. ‘They were his in-laws. Tragic really. They really liked him. Every now and then, they still call him around to fix this and that, but I reckon it’s more so they can see him.’

Eb stared at the door. Frank’s ute’s rumble down the driveway had faded ages ago. ‘I didn’t know he was divorced.’

Niko sprung from his seat, taking his rubbish to the kitchen where she was. ‘Not divorced. Just wife’s gone.’

Something in her felt acidic. A sick feeling that sat on her chest. Poor Frank. ‘How did she die?’

Niko shrugged. ‘No one knows really. One day, him and I go up to the McKensies to help restore their fence on their property, and when we came back, she was gone. They never found her.’ 

The feeling sunk deeper down, and Eb felt the sandwich wanting to come back up any time soon. ‘How long has it been?’

Niko thought about it. ‘Reckon couple of years.’
‘Poor Frank!’

‘Yeah he does alright. I guess. You wouldn’t know by looking at the man huh?’

Eb shook her head. No. Not by looking at him.  

Last Cab to Nowhere

Dana scurried around in the hubbub of the party still in full swing, her head dashing in and out of rooms, under flung cushions and dresses of unknown victims who simply glared at her. 

‘Excuse me?!’

‘What is she doing?’
‘Too much to drink,’ someone laughed as she rushed past them back out onto the balcony one last time. She stole a look over the rails while she was at it to see if the cab she’d called had arrived. The street revealed no such phenomenon, for it was a phenomena for a cab that arrives on time on a busy Saturday night. 

‘Dana? Why are you scaring people? You promised to behave.’ Her best friend, Kaiser smiled at her from his great height, walking out onto the balcony with multiple beer bottle necks secured in his hands. He passed them around and turned his focus back on her. ‘You’re taxi here yet?’
She shook her head and grabbed the beer from his hand, took a thirsty swig and slid the bottle back in his open hand. ‘You seen my bag?’

‘You lost your bag?’ His brows rose high. 
‘My clutchy thing, you know.’

‘The things without any handles?’ Dana smiled and nodded. ‘Nope, haven’t seen it.’
‘I’ve looked everywhere!’ She squeaked in panic, stepping away from people looking at her strangely. Guess lifting skirts off seats and sofas, and looking under beds while people were trying to find privacy wasn’t really good etiquette. Then again, in Dana’s opinion, it was highly rude to be trying to do anything indecent in someone else’s apartment. ‘I’m gonna miss my flight.’

Kaiser held out 50 dollar note. ‘I don’t even know why you are taking such a late flight. May as well have gone tomorrow morning if all it is is you trying to escape your family. I’d gladly drop you off myself.’

Dana took the note and shoved it in her jeans. ‘I have no desire to sit there and listen to people yabber about a woman I could barely stand. I’d rather be on a sunny beachside sipping mojitos than be there for the whole thing.’

‘You’re going south, where beaches are few and colder. And you hate mojitos.’ He held her back as she went to go past. ‘You’re one of the beneficiaries.’

‘Exactly! Which means it gives my family reason to glue all eyes on me the whole week. No thank you. Now get out of my way. I have a taxi to catch.’
Kaiser pulled her in a quick hug. ‘Should I go in your place?’ 

‘If you want.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Don’t sleep with that one, that one or that one.’ She laughingly pointed out random guests. 
‘What about that one?’ Kaiser pointed to a woman striding their way with a charming little cherub on her hip. 

‘That one will have to do.’ Dana laughed. Gave a quick hug to Kaiser’s beautiful wife and child and rushed towards the door. ‘Keep my bag safe for me!’
As Dana got into the lift, she could hear the faint rumble of thunder. ‘Please don’t rain. Please don’t rain.’ She rushed out onto the street, empty as the first giant drops of rain slapped her cheek. She checked her phone as a messaged buzzed: You taxi is 30 seconds away. 30 seconds wasn’t that long, and Dana stared down the street to see if she could spot the headlights. Nothing. 
Laughter rolled down with the rain from the balcony and Dana looked up to see Kaiser’s head, a tiny pin in the grey night sky. ‘You should just cancel!’

Suddenly, a taxi appeared far too quickly beside her on the kerb. She hadn’t even heard it pull up. A window rolled down. ‘Ms Dana Beecham?’ An elderly man with a well kept grey beard bent down to see her on the sidewalk. ‘You ordered a taxi?’

The rain began with more gusto and she clambered into the back seat. ‘How did you know my name?’ 
The man laughed. ‘I pay attention.’

The glint in his eyes threw her off. It was as if he knew things. Really knew things. Like for example, she felt almost as if he could tell why she was in a hurry to get away.
A lash of lightening ripped across the sky and the power grid failed instantly. The whole street blacked out, and thunder that followed cut Dana off at, ‘Please take me to…’

‘I know where to take you Miss.’ He interrupted, a smile on his face. Somehow he reminded her of her late grandfather. She hadn’t seen the man in over two decades, but it was almost as if the eyes were his. ‘Buckle up!’ With the rumble of the engine, lights came on one by one on all the buildings as they shot by. In disbelief, Dana kept staring out the window till they were well away from the street. 

‘How did you know where I want to go?’ The thought suddenly disturbed her. ‘I didn’t tell you.’
The cabbie laughed. ‘As I said, I pay attention.’ He pointed recklessly at a navigation system as if to say that was his source of information.

Maybe, thought Dana. Maybe she’d already told the dispatcher when she’d placed the call. 
‘Please hurry. I’m running a little late.’

He nodded, turning on the radio station to some mellow music. ‘Not to worry dear. Sit back and relax. I’ll get you there at the right time.’
The street lights flashed by one by one. The last of her drinks finally catching up with her. She hadn’t closed her eyes in ages, and when she did, it was not with the intention to fall asleep. 

‘Here we are, Miss. Your destination.’ 

When Dana woke, it was almost dawn and she was no where near the airport. She was exactly where she didn’t want to be. The whole reason why she was meant to be in a flight over Alice Springs. Not sitting outside her Grandma’s home, exactly how she remembered it. Perfect. 
Dana turned to the man in shock. ‘You said you knew where I needed to be?!’ Her tone highly accusing. The man nodded, got out, pulled out her luggage from the back seat next to her and came around to open her door. 

‘Yes. And this is where you needed to be. I got lost there for a bit, but no, in the end, I got you here, safe and sound!’ He beamed. Her grandfather’s eyes smiled down at her and she couldn’t really get angry at him. Instead, she crossed her arms and refused to get out. ‘Don’t you think you are being a little childish?’
Offended, she was about to protest when the front door opened and her mother in pyjamas walked out, looking at her directly. ‘Dana! You came.’

The man stepped aside and allowed her to exit the cab. He handed her her bag and walked away.
‘How much do I owe you?’

The man smiled. ‘We can decide that later!’ He doffed his hat and slipped into his cab. Before long pulling out as Dana pulled her bag along reluctant. What did he mean by that?
‘Hey Mum!’

‘Hey yourself. Look at you? So skinny!’
Dana couldn’t help but feel the lump in her throat as she eyed the facade. It wasn’t where she needed to be. Was it? All those memories pressed against her mind. All those desperate attempts to get away. And there she was, miraculously about walk into a home she hadn’t stepped foot in in over 5 years for a woman she had loved as much as possible but hated just the same. 
Home sweet home. 

Ebony & Frank: 13

Eb felt the thump of her veins in her head, but the most noticeable aspect of the morning was, she had no idea where she was. ‘What the hell did you do?’ She mumbled trying to think back to the night. Only snippets of it flashed in her mind. Niko and Frank chugging beers down and whooping as their team scored; Frank’s gentle tug on her elbow; Jeff the bartender pushing drink after drink in front of her; her whistling as some burly old men hurled up beside her. 

The room was barely decorated. A bed, a wardrobe, a standing mirror and a wicker chair beside the only nightstand with the lamp still on. No signs of photos to point her in the direction of knowing where or rather whose house she was in. Nausea threatened again and it wasn’t caused by the drinking. She rushed out of bed, towards the only door she could see. It launched her out into a short corridor.

‘Hello?’ She cried. ‘Where is your bathroom? I needed to throw…’

The other end of the corridor revealed a silhouette emerging. ‘How’s that head of yours?’
Eb squinted. Her eyes watered from the brightness, her head throbbed, and the need to throw up kept pressing on her throat. ‘Bathroom?’ She croaked. ‘I’m gonna be sick.’

Before she knew it, he was upon her, grabbing onto her arm with that familiar touch and lead her into one of the closed doors into a bright bathroom, straight above the commode. 

‘Guess we discovered your poison last night.’ Frank chuckled despite Eb gagging over the toilet seat, holding her hair back for her. She didn’t think any part of it was truly funny. 

‘I bet I look a sight,’ she sat back, the ache in her head calming a bit. 
Frank shrugged, on the edge of the bathtub. ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before.’

Eb smiled. The vision of Frank rippled in front of her and she saw a different vantage point. Her and a man seated on the edge of the bathtub, both looking worse than the other. His face a blur. ‘Bet I look horrid, huh?’ She laughed dry. ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before,’ came the reply. 


‘You feeling alright there?’ Frank leaned over her. His palm shaking in front of her face back and forth. 

Eb shook her head. ‘You’re an ass Frank, you know that?’ She pushed off the floor. ‘I woke up in a fright.’

‘And that’s why you had to chuck up?’ 
‘I didn’t know where I was, or with whom.’

‘Unlucky for you, you were picked up by me!’ Frank laughed. A manly thud landed on her back as he walked past her at the basin. ‘I’ll toss us something together for brekky. I’m starving.’

Eb watched as he shoveled food in his mouth. Frank wasn’t joking when he said he was starving. She sipped the terrible drip coffee he’d made. She could use a bag of sugar and it still wouldn’t save it, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘So?’ She started awkwardly, her eyes on the big chunk of bacon-egg-toast reaching his mouth. ‘We didn’t really end up together last night, did we?’

The moment the question fell out of her mouth, she wished she could take it back. It sounded sillier than it had in her head, and to be honest, she didn’t even know if she was the type of girl who minded these things and how they happen. With Frank’s deep brown eyes locked onto hers now, she couldn’t very well pretend she hadn’t asked anything, now could she?
‘Umm,’ she laughed, a nervous squeak coming out of her. ‘I hope I didn’t jump you and make this whole thing awkward, cause you know, that would be awkward. I mean, it’s not like you like me or anything, and I well, I think you’re handsome and all, but really, I haven’t thought about it, I mean us, before this. Today I mean…’ And as she went on, she saw his expression go from disbelieve to horror, offense, and then amusement. ‘Fuck! I really need to shut up. Tell me to shut up.’

Frank’s laughed rolled out so hard it caught her by surprise. Was he laughing at her? Or at the ridiculous things she was blathering about. 

‘I’m sorry.’ She rose from her seat in a hurry, knocking over the coffee from her cup all over the table and the floor. She could feel heat rush to her cheeks and her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

Frank gave nothing away. ‘Sit down, Eb.’ She did so only out of curtsey. She actually felt herself shrink inwards and wished that the morning would fast forward till she was home and banging her head on the back of the door after Frank would obviously drop her off. 

‘I’m sorry.’ She mumbled in one last  heroic effort, watching the coffee drip pathetically to the floor. ‘Your floor is getting dirty.’

‘You’re an odd girl, Ebony Watson. Odd girl.’ Shriveled up like a prune inside, she managed to crack a small smile. ‘Odd girl, but definitely fun to be a with.’

She didn’t mean to. She truly didn’t, but her mouth fell open in shock. So they had ended up together together last night? She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and rose slowly. ‘I’m gonna go clean your floor.’

‘Hey Eb!’

Eb stopped short and turned despite it all. ‘Yeah.’

‘You were amazing last night.’ His lips curled in that insanely attractive lopsided smile she’d grown accustomed to. 

Eb managed a quick smile before pursuing the paper towel in the kitchen. She would be spontaneously combusting there on his floor if spontaneous combustion of a highly embarrassed human were possible. She could only deduce that she was not the type to sleep around, and that from now on Long Island Ice Tea was out of the question. Oh, and Frank. Definitely Frank. 

Today’s Motivation: Beauty and the Beast

Today’s Motivation: Beauty and the Beast

The title says it all. As some of you know, I have a Beauty and the Beast inspired piece I’m working on slowly here on my blog. The Keeper, for those who haven’t come across it is a modern day take on the old classic. 

I’ve always loved fairy tales. Who can resist their magic, right? Once upon a time I used to have a Reader’s Digest volumn of fairy tales from around the world. I had discovered it at a garage sale when I was growing up in my early teens in NZ. It had a picture or two accompanying each tale. There were the usually ones we have all heard of, but then there were also many I had never come across. I used to adore that book. I wish I still had it.  When my family moved to Aus, my mum accidentally sold it off in yet another Garage Sale. Circle of life I suppose. I just hope whoever has it now treasures it as much as I did. I have never mourned the loss of a book as much as I still do that work. Alas, back to my point…

The Keeper, as I was saying is my twist on the fairytale. A dark twist I guess. I’ve been enjoying it but I’ve reached a point where I have needed reference to the original material. But with the new live-action film coming out in March, and my own take on the story, I needed to see how close to any of those I was venturing.  I got my hands on the tale a while back but had been meaning to watch Disney’s version. It had been many years since and I don’t recall it very well. So, I borrowed a copy and watched that this evening. 

I was very surprised. Disney’s version is so very different to the original! So so very different. And now at least I know I’m not walking on its shadow with my own writing. Very keen for March. 

It’s a bit too late now, but I think I might get working on the next installment for The Keeper tomorrow. I think my Belle has just started to miss her Beast. I wonder what the charming devil will do next…

G’night for now.


Finding inspiration for the Musically inclined 

Finding inspiration for the Musically inclined 

Current Obsession: Music

Instrument skills: none whatsoever! 

What I would love to be able to play: piano, or a violin, can’t decide. 
I don’t normally confess to being an obsessive kind unless you consider slight OCD when it come to my own things. Even in my chaotic room, there is a semblance of order that only I would understand obviously. Nor have I ever been a crazy ‘fan’ of anything. I mean, I understand that people will admire artists and actors, and other figures in the public, but even as a teenager growing up, my obsessive nature only went as far as pretending to be obsessed by talking about a ‘topic’ or cutting out bits and bobs to actually forget about them and years late bin them. No. I have never been the obsessive kind, and nor have I understood the compulsion to be honest. 
What is it that drives people to go crazy after something? 
At the moment, my obsession has been, in a loose sense of the word, listening to Nepali songs of today on YouTube. I just pick a song (obviously the one I can remember a name off), then I select the playlist already compiled or suggested and go with it. Some songs will be great, some not so. But I have to say, they are really coming up with a few that get stuck in my head and keeps looping. 
Most of the time, I wouldn’t say I’m a music person, nor would I know artists and songs. But I have become somewhat of a fan of this new artist (obviously not new to the country), Rohit John Chetri. He has a smooth voice that doesn’t jar, and mostly I love the lyrics. I usually don’t even pay attention to the lyrics but this time, I keep playing a song on repeat. It has melody, harmony, lyrics that have weight, and music that is quite calming. 
If you are Nepali and happen by this post, check out the song ‘Bistarai Bistarai’ (Slowly, slowly) I guess. Even if you are not, I dare say you will still love the music in it. 
Today I found myself humming the song as I painted butterflies and rainbows on few tiny Wonder Women. I didn’t know all the lyrics, I never do. Going by yesterday’s theme of finding motivation, I think I might start collecting some songs that have the right feel for me. They do put me in a mood to create. 
Alas, I’m still singing the song in my head and going to bed bistarai (slowly). Good night all. Talk to you tomorrow. That is if I don’t forget. 


Finding Motivation to write when all you want to do is the ‘P’ word.¬†

Procrastinate, that is. Mind you, we don’t normally wake up in the morning saying ‘Hey, I know what I’m gonna do today. And that is do everything else but the thing I should do.’ No, unfortunately it’s the opposite. With the dawning of our day, be it 5AM in the morning (if you are an early bird), or closer to midday, we all wake up thinking, ‘Today is the day. Today is it. I’m gonna do it!’ And about halfway out of bed, you forget your pledge and slip into slippery slopes of getting distracted by this and that, a stray thought that leads you to do one thing after the other till you realize the whole day has been spent and you have slithered back into bed feeling disappointed. Of course, in that last heroic stance you think maybe you should just start that piece now. Just a matter of stretching over and grabbing your tools. But then again, who is going to sleep for you? Right? 

I have been fighting and failing to write. Procrastination always gets in the bloody way! And that got me thinking, what is it about this year that has proven to be such a challenge? (Of which there have been a few valid distractions.) Most years I pump out at least a book, and a few scripts, not to mention the many odd things I post here. But 2016 has been that whimsical year. September. Well hello there, how do you do? It’s almost gone too. Meaning only a quarter of the year is left and so much more to write. 
Nowadays, I troll social media for inspiration, something to drive me to write. When once I used to be able to write any random thing, this year, despite the many quotes and prompts pinned on Pinterest, my interest in writing as much as I used has dwindled. I’m a sporadic writer. So sporadic indeed that it’s actually started to really bug me. And bug me it does, hence this article. 
Every writer has to get in the right headspace to write. Everyone. I know as writers we evolve over time, develop our styles, our voices, our routine. However, what most people won’t admit to is, we evolve into creatures of habit, we seek out comfort zones that will put us in the mood for writing straight away. And these spaces, these sanctuary hold great power over us. It becomes sacred, and the thought of writing else become less and less welcomed.
My space used to be cafes, but mostly I could write anywhere once a sentence or two were spelt. Nowadays, it feels as if something inside is calling for a dedicated writing space. Too long have I gone without that corner sofa in a humming cafe, that isolated-yet-I’m-still-in-public feeling that allowed me to people watch at a safe distance. Writing space. Think about that. It could be your room. It could be that park across the road from work, or the cafe down a couple go blocks. Or it could just be a piece of music that sets your mood. 
The point is, find motivation. Do whatever it takes to kick start that brain of yours. Once you start it, it will do its thing. Sometimes, I write a simple micro poetry and post it on Twitter to the same satisfaction I get if I had written a whole chapter for my current work-in-progress (which of course I have quite a few).
Procrastination is a habit my dears. A terrible habit. One that should come with a warning label; ‘Beware! Distractions may cause delay in achievement of ones happiness and desires!’ 
Or something to that effect. Today’s motivation has been this effort to psyche myself up. From tomorrow, or there off, here is hoping that I can kick some ‘P’ butt and get on with what I need to do. No buts, no ifs. Think of the future. Think of your goal. And keep that gaol in mind. What’s mine for the rest of the year? Finish the book, and a rewrite a script. 
There. I said it. 3 months, plenty of distractions. Can I do it? I sure hope so. At least, I’d like to think I’ll try. 
Fingers are crossed. So crossed.

Into the Night

Into the Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Do not go quiet without a fight,

rage, rage against the dying of a life.

Do not go silent into the morrow,

rage, rage against the passing of the time.

Do not go discreet with the passing hours,

rage, rage against the careful plight.

Do not go simple into this life,

rage, rage for the quest alike. 
Do not go gentle my friend,

go in a frenzy your own way.

(Inspired and propelled by Dylan Thomas’ poetry).


Cry, cry you may.

The words fall on deaf ears.

Noise filters not through haze.

Life, it has but been waste. 

Time matters, as long as displayed;

Msgs, txts, the numerous #hastags!

Friends aplenty on the wide world of web.

Yet, very few know what it takes;

to go through day by day. 

Life in motion is only motion,

seemlessley going nowhere. 
Lols, Lmaos and TGIFs 

bring back Thursdays.
But wait… Who brings back this moment? This place? This…something.
You don’t care. Another selfie communicates. 
Me, mine, my. How’s my face? status update.
OMG, wtf. Society has abbreviated

in every which way. 

So do TC.