A Blogovella by Ezzie Dryar (Anne Martin)

8. Dreams and Aspirations


Carolyn by simpsonyiu

I’ve been rabid the last couple of days, obsessed with sex even more than usual, sex in dreams, wet dreams, I dream a lot, even when I’m awake, just sitting here working, now writing, tap, tap, tap, on my keyboard, doing one thing while thinking about the other,

today it’s dreams, dreams and aspirations, but mostly dreams, I’ve been thinking about publishing, that’s an aspiration obviously, and although I’m an editor, I don’t really have the right connections in publishing, and I don’t have anything substantial to submit, a nice long serious short story or novel, Hahn has stalled, while I re-consider where it is going, I’ve got a general plan, but I started the next chapter and it just felt so stale, what to do with Alleyn’s cousin, and Hahn’s three other consorts, bringing them in, but I feel like Liz needs to get back to the real world, to get her back in touch with her real feelings, to become mortal again – I know how it is going to happen, but it seems so far away in the story, so much to write between now and then, and what I’ve written doesn’t connect with my dreams, the topic of this rant, and I feel that my best writing comes when it exists in my dreams (waking or sleeping) first, before I try to commit it to paper (or hard disk),

now that was a Freudian slip (that I’ve fixed), a hard dick, see, I’m still thinking of sex way too much, too much for my own sanity, and of him, always of him, I blame him, too, and myself for letting it happen this way, of course, I still love him, and without him I’d be writing nothing at all, not about Alleyn, not about Hora, not fantasy, not my fantasies, nothing, so I guess I have him to thank as well as blame – you may blame him for what I inflict on you, for what you dream, because that’s what I do to you, help you (make you?) dream, to help you fly, to let go of the ground to fly into that land of dreams where we become immortal

powerful, and every story has a happy ending, if we want it to, do you want a happy ending or an ending at all, just the promise of a future, like sex, not a one-nighter, the kind that you know you will have again with your lover, who is always the best, the best for you, that gives you the most complete satisfaction, who completes you, not incomplete like me, except that I need you, my reader, to give me the semblance of completion, that’s the next best thing, dear reader, love me, love my work, and we’ll get along just fine (doesn’t this sound so depressing and shallow?), but we keep going, keep dreaming – do you want to know what I’m dreaming now, he’s at my door, waiting for me to finish this, stepping behind me, hands on my shoulders, massaging my neck, he knows what I want and how to give it to me, kisses the top of my head … excuse me, but my muse wants to inspire me now, so I’ll just slip into something more comfortable, or maybe nothing at all, my rentboy is here, yes, my muse is a … okay, I’ve got to stop writing now, he’s (stop that!) … I’ve got to go …

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