So, this is going to be a longer post, but bear with me! If you’re a
writer interested in learning others’ processes or a reader curious about what
the process looks like, you’re going to love this installment of In the Midst!
The thing about Part 2 of this unfinished series is that there are two
versions of it. I’ll show you the first version before I explain what I liked/didn’t
like and before I show you the second and final version of Part 2 that was
originally published.
In the
Midst #2
I’ve been debating with myself all morning. After looking at my
completed list of locations, I see that I’ve failed to explore the majority of
it. I should…but I really don’t want to.
It’s all because of my stupid dreams. For the past few nights I keep
having anxiety dreams and nightmares. The nightmares actually aren’t the worst.
At least with those, there’s just a shock and then you wake up (maybe in a cold
sweat, but now worse for wear). I can usually sleep again after a few
heart-pounding moments.
But the anxiety dreams hit differently. They have a dread that lingers
in my body, that makes it hard to breathe. And unlike my nightmares (which are
about my real world problems), every anxiety dream takes place in this world.
I’m always wandering alone. Everything around me is alright until it
isn’t. Suddenly something like a staircase leading into the clouds will appear.
Or a skyscraper slowly melting. Or a pool that has no visible floor. Shadows
grow darker.
And then there are footsteps. Distant and quiet at first, but when I
turn around, they get faster. There’s no one in sight, but the footsteps keep
coming. I run to hide somewhere and the invisible stranger runs by. I’m safe,
but too terrified to come out of hiding.
That’s how these dreams usually go. It would be easier to push them
aside if I wasn’t alone. But they make even a trip to the Sweet Tomato feel
like it could be my last.
No. This can’t go on.
I’m going to pick one – or two? No, one. One is enough. I’ll pick one
place on my list that I haven’t fully explored, and I’ll prove to myself that
everything is fine.
As fine as it can be, that is.
Picked the easiest location – the Outskirts Gas Station. It’s been
awhile since I was out of town (guess I’ll have to name that, too). It’s also
the first time I’ve seen the unbuilt spaces in broad daylight. It’s pretty out
here…if also familiar in an unsettling way. It looks like every computer
background from 15 or even 20 years ago: rolling green hills and bright blue
skies. Too perfect to be real. And no noise, which makes me wish there were
birds chirping. Still, I guess it’s better than that weird static hiss in town.
This gas station also makes me kind of sad. It reminds me of the road
trips my family used to take. At least, Mom and my siblings and I. Dad was
usually too busy at work. I have lots of memories of staring out the window,
wondering why the land zoomed by but the sky stood still. And, obviously,
memories of stopping at plenty of places like this along the way.
Strange, though. I went inside to see what kind of snacks there were.
The logos on everything were…how shall I put it? It was like the fonts were
melting. You can’t read the names of anything because the letters are mushed
together beyond legibility.
Many people say they can’t read in their dreams. Is this what they’re
talking about when they describe what they see?
If only this whole place – and my stay in it – was a dream.
Being out here makes me feel braver, though. If there was any room to
sleep, I’d make my homebase in this gas station. At any rate, I’m brave enough
that I’ve drawn up an exploration plan for myself. I’ll look into the Familiar
Schools first (3 total). Then I’ll move onto the offices on White Collar
Avenue. My last main target will be the neighborhood of Daisy Hill. With that,
I’ll comb the streets and look inside just one or two houses. No point in
checking all of them when I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll find. That and I
want to spend as little time in that creepy neighborhood as possible.
I should probably go back to town before it gets dark.
Had another anxiety dream. Can’t sleep. It’s too dark in the rest of the
mall to walk around, so I’m writing instead. The kids clothing store (across
from where I normally sleep) is the only store that has its lights on 24/7,
which is where I am.
I should find something like a radio. If I had a little music, maybe
these nights wouldn’t be so bad. At least, I wouldn’t be so paralyzed with fear
after these dreams. Hell, it could help with exploration in general. Half the
reason I don’t want to go anywhere is because the quiet is too much.
Or what if I found the mall’s music system? It’s quiet in here, too, but
this is a mall. Every mall in the real world played music. Music was
about the only thing that let you know that places like this were still alive.
Searching for that could also help me find the power to this place. Then
maybe I could turn on some more lights…
I’m going to look.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
I’m not sleeping for the rest of the night. And I’m not going back there
until daylight is pouring through the skylights. Don’t want to say anything
about whatever I just saw – I’ll just keep watch until the night is over.
Like I said in the author’s note for Part 1, I drew on a lot of memories
and past experiences of the late 90s/early 2000s to create a nostalgia-haunted
world fit for a dreamcore story (see previous author’s note if you need a
refresher on what dreamcore is).
In this one, as you could probably guess, I was drawing on memories of places
you find in transit – places like gas stations you’d stop at during road trips.
My family (my mother, my siblings, and I) used to make a trip every summer from
Nevada to Colorado to visit family. Gas stations and rest stops had a certain
strange feel to them as a kid – as if they existed in a reality far removed
from those of neighborhoods and cities.
In this version of Part 2, I included the element of anxiety dreams.
Lots of lists of writing advice will tell you to avoid using dreams in
storytelling (often with the saying that they’re almost never executed well).
But I’m stubborn and to me, I think dreams have a lot of potential in
storytelling. They’ve had a huge impact on my waking life and I feel it’s a
waste to cut them out of stories entirely.
Looking at this version of Part 2 overall, however, I see the reasons why
this didn’t make the official cut for online publishing. It’s pretty threadbare
as far as any actual storytelling. All we learn is that the unnamed narrator is
having bad dreams, is slowly but surely exploring, and can’t stand the silence.
There are elements here, but none are really expanded upon to either progress
the plot or reveal more about the narrator – they’re just kinda there. Also
that poor excuse of a “cliffhanger” at the end doesn’t give enough of an idea
of what scared the narrator to make the reader want to know what happens next.
I can also see in here a mistake I still make from time to time.
Sometimes, when thinking of my potential readers, I feel the urge to sort of “touch
and go” – bring up things in a story and then move on too quickly from them.
This means a lot of things come up, but they’re not always developed well
enough to mean something to the overall story. And while you can always go back
and fix this kind of stuff in revisions, I was writing this series with the
purpose of it being polished as little as possible (to push on my fears of
imperfection). If I was going to publish something rough, I still wanted it to
have some semblance of quality.
So after rereading this a few times, I went back and tried again. This
was the version of Part 2 that ended up published 2 years ago.
In the
Midst #2
I don’t know why in the two and a
half months I’ve been here, I haven’t thought to find a radio or anything that
plays music. All this time, I’ve been living in unbearable silence and hating
it so much. It just makes me so paranoid about going anywhere or being alone. Leaves
too much room for my mind to imagine things that would make me more scared. If
I had something that could play music, news, or literally anything, things
would be a little better.
I’ve also been thinking I ought to explore more. Like really
explore. As is evident by the partial list I gave last time, a lot of this town
remains a mystery to me. Mostly because I just walk the streets. Knowing no one
is around doesn’t make the buildings any less ominous. Instead, it makes the
houses feel like they could be sentient. It’s as if now that no one’s around,
the houses have woken up and are watching everything – watching me.
Anyway, I don’t like going inside. But once I have something to break
the silence and save my sanity, I should. There could be useful things in the
houses, schools, and offices. If nothing else, there might be clues as to what
this world is. Its history, its people.
If there were people. There would have to be people, right? Why
else would all this be here? You can’t have architecture without someone to
build it.
Spent all day and nearly gave up, but I have music!
First, I looked around the mall. I’d been through every store before,
but I just wanted to double-check. When I didn’t find anything, I moved onto
the downtown area. It has more restaurants and clothing boutiques, but I
figured it was worth a shot. Then I was at the edge of Daisy Hill, checking
every little place I could.
By then, that very faint hiss you hear in town sounded louder. I’m sure
it was just me freaking out inside, but it really did feel like something in
the air was closing in on me. Trying to block my ears to anything else. It got
to the point where I was too dizzy to walk. Plopped under a tree, I looked over
at the identical cream houses of Daisy Hill, fearing today would be the day
when I’d know them better.
But as I rose, I saw something lying on the sand of a nearby playground
(Blue Jay Playground = explored). It was a Walkman with headphones. At least,
that’s what it looked like. The lettering for the brand name was mushed and
illegible. That didn’t matter, though. Immediately I tried turning it on.
Success! It worked without a hitch and it’s what I’m listening to as I write.
The only downsides are these. I have no cassettes and even if I did, I
wouldn’t know exactly how to use them (I was very small when they were still
popular). On top of that, there are only two radio stations. One is constant
static. And the other plays, well, Weather Channel music. Very 80s and 90s
smooth jazz fusion stuff. I mean, it’s not the worst, but…I don’t know. It’s just
bland and it makes me kinda sad.
It makes me think of Uncle Jerry.
He was one of the only relatives I have clear memories of. Probably
because he was the only relative who was comfortable hanging out with his small
nieces and nephews. Tall and robust, he wore mostly Hawaiian and polo shirts, a
flat cap, and colored sunglasses. He was always either golfing or bowling. And
wherever he took us, he’d always play The Rippingtons – one of those bands
you’d expect to hear on the Weather Channel. The music bored me to death, but I
liked being with Uncle Jerry, so I’d sit through every minute of saxophone and
synths.
He was the only one who noticed something different about me back then.
“You look out the window a lot, kid. What do you see?”
“What everyone else sees.”
“No one seems quite as interested in it as you.”
I shrugged. “I imagine things, too.”
“Like finding shapes in the clouds?”
“Hmm…” I caught my attention slipping and forced myself to look at him.
“Not really. Sometimes I imagine stories. Other times I just…drift. I kinda go
places.”
He nodded. “You know, your mind is a powerful thing. Sometimes it’s
scary, too. It can fill you with bad and sad thoughts. Or it can wander so far you
feel lost.”
Lost as in I feel like I’ve left my body? Like I can’t find my way
back? I didn’t say any of these things out loud. Instead, I asked, “How do
you get…un-lost?”
Uncle Jerry turned up the volume.
“Music!” He tapped the rhythm on the
steering wheel. “When everything in your head is big and loud or you don’t know
where you are, you blare it all out with music. It brings you back to earth
without bringing you down.”
I don’t remember if I responded to him or not. Or if I went back to
staring out the window. But I suppose I took his words to heart because I listened
to music a lot more after that. I didn’t sense any magical changes, but music
did keep me grounded. Especially in the teen years when nothing seemed to go
right and all I wanted was to run away from everything.
By then, however, it was too late to thank him for the advice. He died
when I was ten.
Sheesh…what am I doing talking about family stuff at a time and place
like this? Nothing about my life before means anything here. Here I am, full of
these old memories, thoughts, and experiences, and not a single one of them
makes sense in this place. This world with no past and no future…
I wish I wasn’t alone.
Woke up from a bad dream. Heard something from beyond the fountain. I
got up and walked over there and, as usual, saw no one. But a mannequin had
tipped forward and was leaning against the display window. Must have lost its
balance. The sound of it hitting the glass was probably what I heard.
Nothing to worry about. Going back to sleep.
I was going to explore today anyway, but I think it’d be best if I was
out of the mall all day.
The store with the tipped-over mannequin is a mess. All the mannequins
were on the floor when I checked the store. A lot of clothes racks were thrown
over, too. And there’s a big crack running along the back wall.
For my sanity’s sake, I’m going to assume I slept through a little
earthquake.
There’s nobody else here so no one could have done this.
There’s nobody else here so no one could have done this.
There’s nobody else here so no one could have done this.
No one.
I’ve got my Walkman and I’m going out. There’d better not be anything
else happening at the mall while I’m gone. If there is…well, I don’t know what
I’ll do. Except maybe find somewhere else to sleep. If it was an earthquake,
then that’s just another factor I have to live with.
If it – god, this is going to sound so stupid. But if it’s the world
itself doing stuff, then I guess I’d better learn its rules quick. And if
it’s anything else, like some creature I haven’t seen yet –
No, I can’t go there. Stop thinking these kinds of thoughts. Nothing has
happened for two months. Nothing will happen. I’ve lived here long enough to
know that nothing ever happens in this place.
I’m just going to listen to the stupid jazz and explore. Everything will
be fine.
Big difference, huh? Let’s talk about it.
Instead of trying to rewrite the gas station section from the previous
version and emphasize the liminality of the space, I decided to tackle a
different aspect that would impact the narrator more personally: her past. So
in her search for something to break the silence of this world, we learn about
her Uncle Jerry, and through a memory of him, we get a closer glimpse of the
narrator (and see that perhaps something has always been a little different
with her before she stumbled into this empty world she’s in). We also see why
it is she gravitates towards music to keep her grounded – even if it is just “Weather
Channel music” (that 80s/90s jazz fusion stuff has never left me over 20 years
later – though I will say unironically that The Rippingtons aren’t half bad if
you need something chill to listen to).
I think the attempt at horror in this version of Part 2 works better.
Instead of lingering too much on a series of anxiety dreams, we have just one
brief one and then add mysterious goings-on in the mall. The latter element
brings in a lot more true horror because, as far as we know (this far into the
story), no one else is in this world with the narrator. So what on earth is
moving the mannequins? What is happening in this place? Plus, this horror
element does double duty by pushing the narrator out of her comfort zone to
make her explore more (setting the readers up to know the world they’ve been
thrown into).
The biggest improvement here in my eyes is the fact that everything is
more developed. I’m very satisfied with the section where the narrator allows
the music to take her back into her memories, to remember a glimpse of her
past, and to tap into her loneliness. I often think of this particular bit
whenever I remember the In the Midst series because to me, it really
encapsulates the things I wanted to explore in this dreamcore-inspired story.
Because beyond the wacky visuals, dreamcore carries a more intricate essence in
my eyes. It reminds me of:
A past that barely feels real that still echoes within me
Little things I took for granted back then that mean something more to
me today
The signs of the person I’d become in the child I once was
Experiencing fear as a child
The loneliness you feel when you carry even a handful of a different era
with you into an era that you feel you were never meant for
The loneliness of growing up
Maybe that sounds like me putting a little too much meaning into an
aesthetic. And maybe I am. But when I look at dreamcore media and I see the
kinds of responses to it, I see those sentiments I listed above echoed by my
peers and even by younger generations. There’s a lostness and a loneliness many
feel when they look back, but in dreamcore, a part of them finds home again.
Few things in art ever arise for its own sake. Considering the people
making dreamcore media during the pandemic – people my age and younger people
trying to imagine beyond the boundaries of their rooms – is it any wonder that
these wistful themes should emerge from their creations?
I know this was a bit of a different post and it wasn’t originally how I
was going to do things. But I figure if I have an opportunity to share my
process and give you some insights on writing, I might as well take it!
Besides, I feel like it can be easy to look at the writing of others and
imagine that it came out that well. The truth is writing is all about
decision-making. The choices you make determine the kind of story you tell, and
you’ll not always pick the choices that feel right for you the first time around.
All writers understand this, but sometimes for beginning writers, that’s a
harder thing to accept when the only unfinished work they see is theirs. In
sharing my first/failed attempt at a Part 2 for this unfinished series, I hope (if
you’re a writer) that you walk away from this feeling less pressure about your
own writing. If you’re a reader, I hope this helps you appreciate the writing process
even more.
[And if you’ve made it this far, I want to thank you for your time and
your patience. I know I haven’t been as busy on here as I’d have liked to be.
Recent developments in my mental health (along with some outside life stuff)
have made it really difficult to get back into the creative swing of things and
I’ve felt bad about not being as prolific. I made a promise early this year to
write more for you guys and to share what I could in a world that’s growing
darker and darker all the time. My mental health plays a significant role in my
life and I must honor its rhythm. But while mental health setbacks can slow me
down, they’ll never stop me. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for
waiting, thank you for still being here, and thank you for believing in me. It
means more than you can ever know. I'll keep living up to my promise, no matter what happens]
