1001 Nights: #208

I dozed at my computer for a couple of hours, but managed to stay up to hear the webcast. It was a little choppy tonight as Barbara had some technical difficulties, and my own browser froze once, but I heard almost the whole story. You can read it here:

http://1001.net.au/cgi-bin/isengine?o=1001&action=display&id=724

Facing the dream of fear

Ice on the path, Eramosa River Park


Considering the emotional drain of last night's short story, it's no wonder I balk at writing fiction. My life has become happier, but the creative mind must be willing to draw upon the full extent of experience and emotion. The passions I fear didn't kill me before; they won't kill me now. But what exactly is the point of going there? Consider the actor who must remember grief in order to portray it. A writer, too, must compel and convince his audience. The alternative is monotonous, predictable prose.

It took me a while to wind down. I crawled into bed around 6 a.m. The rhythm of traffic had begun to rise in the street.

Dozing, I was pursued around a classroom by a large, bright blue, stuffed animal, a cross between Kanga and Cookie Monster, brandishing a pitchfork. Realizing I was dreaming, I turned to defend myself, slashing with an invisible knife. The creature vanished with a puff of blue feathers, leaving only its googly eyes jangling in space. It wasn't a very satisfying demise, but I just stared at the place where my assailant had stood, lacking the presence of mind to summon it back and dismember it properly.

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Another image is posted in texture.