Daily Archives: May 1, 2012

Screaming in the Basement

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Stephen King talks about the boys in the basement helping out with his writing. Since this is Mr. King, there’s no telling what he really means, but in the context of craft, the idea is to give yourself plenty of information, then let the subconsciousness go to work. When the boys send something up,  write it down before it gets away.

I see dreams this way. Things I can’t quite get my literal mind around squealing like pigs in the dark time. Whatever. I wish they’d shut up already.

Still, I had a doozy last night and spent the eternal sixties between three and four this morning checking under the sofa.

Would You Like to Share With the Class?

Instead of regaling you with my bothersome imagery, I thought we’d play a little. Perhaps we could share and get a little insight from each other.

Here’s one of mine to get you started:

I’m sitting in a nasty swamp. Over to my left, I see the beast playing with another man. They are carrying on big-time and ignoring me completely. I notice that other folks are arriving but they are smart enough to be getting into boats before going out in this murky mess. I start getting anxious and decide to head to shore.

When my feet hit bottom, I feel snakes slithering around in the goo and promptly get bit on the foot but by this point, I don’t care. I’m getting out or I’ll die trying. That’s when I notice the alligators swimming back and forth between me and the shore. I plunge on ahead, expecting to lose an arm or a leg any second.

Once out– appendages still intact– I have no idea what to do next so I go sit in a little changing shed  (down here, that’s an semi-open shed where you shower off and change into your bathing suit or back into clothes.) I sit on the hard wooden bench and watch out the open door. I’m waiting, but don’t know why.

Then the alligators start marching by. They’re walking in line past the door. I tense up, all quiet hoping they don’t spot me but of course, this is a nightmare. The lead gator swings his big ugly head my direction and. . .

. . . they all turn into zombie gators, walking upright on their hind legs and headed right for me. I am trapped inside this stupid shed which is the worst place on earth to be in case of zombie-gator attack.

The End.

Your turn.