Had a nostalgic dream

I had a dream last night, about my first love. Her name was Judy, a small, thin, Chinese girl. (This is why I hold a torch for Asian girls, I think.) We were in Jr. High at the time. In the dream we were a couple. We were standing nude, in a large bathroom, like we had just gotten out of a sauna or something. She stood there, face distracted, arms wrapped around herself. I hugged her from behind, to comfort her, and felt that she had goosebumps. She clearly didn’t want to be there, with me. Despite the fact that our relationship was scripted, she rejected it.

When I was in Jr. High, I was a huge nerd, and completely incapable of having a conversation with her. She never knew I loved her. My good friend Jeff was everything in her eyes. Even though he had a girlfriend (who he married. They were a great couple) she only ever saw him.

One time, Jeff and I were playing chess after school, and Judy came in. Seeing her gaze lingering on him made me upset, and I said something hurtful. I didn’t mean it. However, for some reason, she thought he said it. She crumpled inside, and cried out “Jeff, how could you?” I immediately felt bad and corrected her misunderstanding by shouting “I said it! Not him.” She fled. I don’t think I ever spoke another word to her.

I still think of that moment. I have many regrets.

An awesome find!

So, I had lost the partial manuscript that was

The NecroNomNomNomicon: A Recipe for War

in the tragic death of my old computer.

But it was discovered hiding in the Netherlands by a long-time friend and beta reader, Robbin Van Der Ven. He sent it back my way, and I read it, for the first time in years.

Now, to fully explain the situation, I need to back up a few decades.

I was …. maybe thirteen or fourteen. And my father was completely and utterly drunk. (not uncommon) He decided that I needed to go to the grocery store and buy some food. My father was not one to tolerate back-talk. (any disagreement was back-talk when he was drunk.) And I needed to take my brother’s bike (his call). It had broken handlebars that would flip down, so riding it was tricky at best.

On the way, I had come across a big buckle in the cement of the sidewalk, and the broken bike decided to get all wonky at that exact moment. End result, I skidded along the sidewalk, on my head. When I woke up, I staggered into the grocery store, covered in blood. I was still groggy, and recall that when I asked someone for help (soccer mom with child in tow) they screamed in terror, grabbed the child and fled. This caused a teenaged employee to appear, look at me, freak out, grab and throw me into a display of… I think cereal and run off to call an ambulance.

This accident damaged my memory. Long term memory is iffy for me at best. A good example of this is:

My brother Travis took me to see a movie. I don’t even remember what it was anymore. Just that it was awesome. I called him the next day asking him if he’d seen it.

Pretty embarrassing.

Here’s the good that came from this accident:

Sometimes I forget what I’ve written.

This is helpful sometimes, because when a writer goes through the never-ending loop of edits and revision, one can become blind to ones mistakes, because you’ve been over it a bajillion times already. But me? Sometimes it’s like reading it for the first time all over.

This just happened to me.. again. I was reading the partial book 3, and seriously got the chills from a pretty dramatic fight scene. It was freakin’ sweet.

That’s an awesome feeling.

Shame I had to sacrifice big wodges of my childhood to get it.

-F-