Visit from My 100-Year-Old Self

Since we are talking about the future, I borrowed the idea from Brad Paisley’s song, “Letter to Me” and had my 100-year-old self visit present-day me.

First off, Kimberley, don’t get freaked out. This really is what you are going to look like in the year 2065. Smokin’ hot, right?

And no, I am not visiting you from the Great Beyond. I’m still alive, thank you very much. Time travel is not such a big deal from my side of things.

So…why have I travelled sixty odd years to see you? Well Kimbo, you need a little guidance on this journey of ours. That email you keep staring at like it's a death sentence is liable to create stress that could sabotage our full life. Trust me, you don’t get to be this smokin’ hot by carrying stress baggage day-in-day-out.

My first piece of advice?

Dump the baggage. It’s heavy, ugly, outdated and gives you wrinkles. Let it go. Find your bliss instead. Work at being happy and you will, well, be happy. And so will I.

On that note, it is awesome to be wealthy and famous (more on that later) but you can’t place a value on love. Make sure your family and friends know how much you care. Nothing is more important than love. Not one thing. Especially not that email. Stop looking at it!

From this side of the journey, time is measured in days, not years. Each day is a gift and I’ll slap you silly if you squander your gifts! Get up each morning, put your big girl panties on, and face the day with a smile. Smiling works wonders.

But don’t keep things bottled up, either. Biting your tongue only gives you a sore tongue and a future full of trouble. Remember the melt-down at Targas Eight? Um, sorry. No you wouldn’t remember that since it will happen in 2045. The point is: Arm yourself with love, flood your heart with compassion, and speak your mind. Always.

Be strong. Living for over a century is not for the weak of heart. Hell will come at you when you least expect it, but know that God will be there too. He’ll send angels on earth to comfort you. He always has. And you will survive. Even hell has its limits.

Keep your faith strong. Do you think God would have given us this crazy butt-kicking writing dream slash talent if He didn’t expect us to use it? Would I have made it on the list of Intergalactic Wordsmith Masters if I didn’t believe I could? Believe, woman. Don’t let the fools convince you that you won’t make it. I may be gritty and sassy, but I assure you, I am no fool.

Which leads us to today. Stop fretting over that rejection. Sweet Heaven, you’re going to get at least a thousand of them, might as well make some peace with those bad boys. Each rejection moves you closer to becoming the writer you always wanted to be. Listen to the naysayers, but don’t let them wallop you. Shield our dream in a safe place so that we can succeed.

And believe me, we DO succeed. Gotta run. My broadcast interview is on Mars today and afterwards I’m taking the great-grandbabies for triple-decker chocolate sundaes. Great things, like dark chocolate, never go out of style.

Kisses.

Readers: What would 100-Year-Old YOU tell yourself?

http://kimberleytroutte.com/

When I grow up...

I've been thinking about career choices a lot lately. We have three teenagers -- one about to graduate high school; another will graduate next summer; and the third, a ninth-grader, is bouncing back and forth regarding job choices and future hs courses.

Personally, I think figuring it all out between ages 15-19 is too much to ask. We change so much after those years, how can we possibly know what we want to do "forever"?

I went into journalism. I loved to write and thought it would be great to see my name on that by-line. It was. For a while. But I didn't understand about the politics of that particular workplace OR the constant headache of having to one-up the competition. I'm not the most competitive person at heart. I want to go to work; do my job; get my paycheck; and come home again. Simple.

I wish I'd known then that fiction was where I should be. I wish I had been brave enough to really give it a shot... Just imagine where I might have wound up?

However, soon after entering the workforce as an adult, I got married, moved to another state and we decided I would be a SAHM. I loved it. Still do... but now I'm back in the workforce out of necessity more than true desire. My real passion, writing, is my career. Unfortunately, it's not enough to keep both my heart and soul fed. ;)

Now, our oldest has made plans for what to do with her near future. Unfortunately, everything she 'loves' to do and is really super good at, either requires an advanced degree -- at least a master's -- and/or will make her little money in the end. So she goes with an alternative, all the while hoping her true passions will someday pan out. (Yes, she's also a writer. Poor thing. But a very good one.)

Our second oldest has more of direct, no-nonsense plan. I'm impressed, actually. This one knows what school she will attend; which degrees (associates) she will attain and in what order; plus she'll be doing things she's good at and loves. Can't say I was even remotely as organized at her age. Um, at any age, lol.

The others... well, they're all young enough that it's not a true worry, yet. Thank heavens. I think children need to enjoy more and worry a lot less... That's what they have mom and dad for, right? ;)

Me? Well, I know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be Heather Graham... or Sharon Sala... or Kerrelyn Sparks. (GGGG) Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

I want to be a great writer. The kind of writer who pulls you in hard and fast and keeps you spellbound until that last page. I want you to feel a little let-down at that point, not because the story ended badly, but simply because it's over. I want to leave you wanting more.

So, I work the day job because I need it, and work at my craft in those spare moments in-between and during my volunteer jobs of: wife, mother, psychologist, chauffeur, nurse, dietitian, cook, laundress, maid, and cheerleader.

When I'm not writing, I'm plotting. When I'm not plotting, I'm day-dreaming of new characters and "What ifs". Other times I'm letting all the people in my head show me what's possible in their world. They always seem to know that world better than I.

What do you want to be... if and when you 'grow up'? ;)

Dream Plots

My late writing partner Teri Smith suffered horrific health issues, but they did have one unexpected benefit: painkiller dreams.

One problem or another was constantly sending her to the doctor or the emergency room. I’d call as soon as I received the bad word, worried about her condition—and evil person that I am, the progress of whatever story we were working on at the time.

“No problem,” she’d say. “They’ve got me on codeine [or Vicodin or Percocet]. We can talk now, and I’ll have something for you in the morning.”

“How?” I’d ask. I didn’t—and still don’t—take much in the way of painkillers. I’ve been prescribed codeine exactly three times in my life, and in every case I used it for less than 24 hours before I shifted back to over-the-counter meds.
“Oh, I’ll dream it.”

And she would. In living color and stereo, populated by our characters or characters from books, television or movies. She once dreamed an entire fanfic of Methos, from Highlander, The Series, in a Mexican cantina getting hit upon by a bar girl who hoped he’d take out her boyfriend for her. Other times it would be Looney Tunes Warner Brothers neglected to create. I think she even managed Smell-o-Vision once. I didn’t know you could smell in dreams. But Teri did.

My dreams, even on meds, were so much more prosaic. If I was worried about a presentation, I’d invariably dream myself naked behind the podium. I still run through the traditional Italian dream catalogue on a regular basis: bugs and rodents equal lots of little problems, dogs and cats equal bigger problems, while babies are full-scale disasters. Dead people give you friendly warnings and advice, but brides in white are harbingers of death.

Since my message dreams are invariably spot-on, they must be “true sendings” from what the ancient Greeks called the Gate of Horn. But I wouldn’t mind a “false dream” every so often, particularly if it had a plot and didn’t involve me falling from a great height. Teri’s Ivory Gate Productions were always so much more fun.

Now it looks like I’m going to get my chance. I’m on the calendar for a little surgery next week. Nothing major wrong with me. Nothing major about the surgery, either, but the doctor said to expect a fair amount of pain the first couple of days. And he prescribed Percocet.

Remember, I’m the girl who goes to sleep on half a codeine. Pain and Percocet will send me over the moon. Something tells me I’d better take a notebook with me to record the trip.

Wish me pleasant dreams.
Cheers,
Jean Marie

A Few Parting Words About Keeping Your Dreams Alive!

Isn't that a cool house in the photo at left? It's my parents new farm house which should be finished by January.

My parents are 70 and 65. At their age most people retire and move to town. (At least that's how it works with the farmers around here.)

...well, my folks have other plans. My father is raising natural beef cattle on this farm place and has no plans to quit anytime soon.

...so at the age when their peers are calling it quits and settling on their duffs in town, my parents are packing it up and moving back to the country. It's "back" to the country because in 1984 my parents had to quit farming and sell their home & farm, move to town, and find jobs in our small town.

Then in 1990, after years of saving and working off-farm, they started renting and feeding cattle at my grandfather's farm (Gramps semi-retired at 80). For the past 17 years they have been driving back and forth keeping their dreams of being back on the farm alive, plus my mother worked herself up from secretary to manager at her difficult job, and they cared for their ailing parents until their deaths.

They've been working their asses off for 24 years to see their dream become reality. TWENTY-FOUR YEARS!

And my parents did it their way. Others told them to just remodel the old (firetrap) house that was on the place. Some told them they were crazy to move out on the farm to deal with hot summers and harsh winters at their age.

I'm jumping for joy. I see hope in what they're doing. I see dreams becoming reality. I'm proud to have their blood running through my veins!

Today is my last post on Beyond the Veil. I'm changing up some things in my life. I'm taking steps to make sure I'm doing what I need to make my dreams come true...dreams about my writing career, but about some personal visions as well.

I'm confident I can make them happen. I hope it doesn't take 24 years...but so be it, if it does. I'm going to follow my parents example:

• Work Hard
• Ignore the Negative Nay-sayers
• Decide Your Own Dream
• Get Back Up and Keep Going...and going....and going...and going :)

Wishing my fellow writers and our readers the strength to follow your dreams, I bid you good-bye...for awhile anyway :)

~Margo Lukas

http://www.margolukas.com/

I Want My HEA!

HALF MOON RISING, in print at Amazon now.

Dream a little dream

What did you dream last night?

Everyone does it. Some people as few as 3 a night, some as many as 7. Not everyone remembers their dreams, and most people only remember one or two a night.

Some mornings I remember the surroundings in my dreams with perfect clarity. Who, where, what we were doing, down to the feel of the carpet under my feet and the scent of the dirty dog laying at my feet. The details are there, but without meaning - I don't remember why I was doing whatever I was doing.

Then there are the dreams where I wake feeling like I've been through an emotional wringer. Loss, anger, despair, or more rarely utter bliss and joy - I feel them, but have only the briefest flash of actual dream that goes with it. These dreams aren't much fun - if I'm going to wake up feeling like my world is coming to an end, I'd at least like to know what made me feel that way.

The biggest theme in my dreams is that I'm not me. If I have kids, they aren't the ones I feed, care for, and love in my waking world. If I'm married, it's rarely to the man snoring next to me now. My house isn't the same four walls, and often when I wake up I realize that there's not a thing from my dream that seems like my real world.

I spent a bit of time checking out Dream Moods to see if I could get a better grasp on my dreams and what they mean. It was reassuring to see that it's not unusal to dream of being someone else, and that just because my husband and kids don't make frequent appearances it doesn't mean I don't think they're important - more likely, it's a sign that I'm not worried about them. Our dreams are very self centered places where our subconscious plays our concerns; the ego gets free reign to explore its worries.

I'm not sure that I agree that dreaming of despair "signifies that you will have many hardships and experience much cruelties in the working world." Unless having to watch Trollz for the thirtyteenth time is certifiably cruel.

Dreaming of dogs is even more confusing. It could "indicate a skill that you have ignored or forgotten, but needs to be activated." Or, it could "symbolize intuition, loyalty, generosity, protection, and fidelity." There's no explanation of the stinky part, so I'm going out on a limb and projecting that my dog needs a bath. My nose confirms the theory.

Do you remember your dreams? And do you wonder what they mean when you do?

Part of the Dream Team?

They say hindsight’s twenty/twenty and looking back, I’ve noticed something. I use dreams—a lot. I haven’t done it consciously, it’s just something that’s woven its way into my stories, by chance or circumstance. A recurring nightmare to show that a character has been haunted by something for a long time; another slightly warped, Dada-esque type nightmare involving a bride seeking bouquet for comedic effect and my favorite by far, a cutely naughty dream I used to hook the reader into believing that my character is having a steamy poolside affair with a hunky foot masseuse whose name she can’t quite recall. I don’t use them to further the plot, or wrap up a story, but dreams are in almost all my stories at some point and time.

Why am I drawn to use them time and again? I have some vivid ones myself, especially during that state between sleep and waking when the imagination roams wild and free but awake enough so I don’t get those dreams with say a purple elephant like the one in the picture that speaks German in them, which jolt me awake and make me say. "Huh?" I either don't remember my dreams and am left with strange impressions that don't make much sense, but leave me vaguely disquieted or else I am haunted by them for days. Once in a blue moon, I have nightmares, though nothing as freaky as the painting shown above. If I have to have a motif, why not eels or ostriches? Why dreams?

A very dear friend did a reading for me once and told me I was the King of Cups. Now while it’s good to be king (uh huh thank ya thank ya verra much) I didn’t understand what it meant, except I was in charge, and I liked that! Then she explained that it meant I’m a visionary or a dreamer. Well, that explains my preoccupation for the nocturnal transmissions, huh?

Are other authors drawn to particular themes in their books, or am I the only sucker for sameness? While I never use them as a plot device, I like the un-reality of them, the whimsy in some cases, the contrast in others. The way they jolt the character and/or the reader out of their comfort zone, shifting them somewhere else.

For many, like mystics, and wise men and women, dreams or visions have been used as a form of travel albeit temporary to other places or even planes of existence. The only traveling I do with my ‘dream theme’ is page to page, chapter to chapter. I just hope my quirky ‘dream theme’ gives my stories a touch of whimsy that the readers will enjoy as much as I do.

Dream On,

Jenna Leigh