Quantum Dreams

 

Jakers followed Dr Berens down the Vintage Wing of the sleep clinic. As pricey as the insomnia treatment was, Jakers had sprung for the full package, which included a special extra based on his choice of sleep environment: a season of Gilligan's Island that never filmed. 

"I still can't understand how it's possible," Jakers said as they turned a corner. 

"Quantum computer," said the man with a disturbing resemblance to Chris Lee. "It analyzed shows, cast, locations, then predicted where the series was headed. You've seen animated films so real you had to do a doubletake. This achieves full reality. Let's face it--people got tired of watching Gilligan blow the rescue chances, and all the bullying from hostile tribes. The season opens with Wrongway Feldon landing his biplane. As 'king' of a neighboring island, he has access to shipping lanes. He's brought along goodies like portable TVs and coffee, but won't help rescue them because it could jeopardize his own utopia."

"What about hostile tribes?"

"Feldon gives the skipper an old Army Browning automatic. He mows down some invading headhunters, and that's the end of that plot line."

Jakers winced. "You call that comedy?"

"It reflects what viewers would do if stranded on an island." Berens opened a door to the Gilligan Suite. It was uniformly bare save for a cot and end table. 

Jakers walked, but went nowhere. "What the. . . ."

"Treadmill, Mr Jakers. You can explore your surroundings in the hologram world. No matter how far you go, only the background moves, just like in video games."

"Ingenious." Jakers settled onto the cot, noted the stores in the table: coffee, water, a candle tripod, snacks. "Cozy. I should be able to sleep if it's all you say it is."

"When the program starts, you'll be in the hut shared by the skipper and Gilligan. They'll react to your speech, but otherwise won't bother your repose."

"It sounds like quite a distraction."

"Only enough to tire you out and get you relaxing."

Jakers got started right away, the time being ten p.m. The sudden shift was startling. There was the skipper at his disk, sharpening a knife by candle light. Gilligan lay in his hammock reading a comic. Wind rattled the bamboo and fern frame. Through a chink near the ceiling, a distant blue horizon lay under scudding black clouds. 

The skipper looked up. "This isn't keeping you awake, is it, Mr Jakers?"

"Not at all. I think I'll go for a walk."

"Don't go far," Gilligan said. "Storm's coming up."

Outside, palm trees rustled and swayed. Jakers couldn't believe it--here he was on Gilligan's Island. Nearby were the other huts. Mrs Howell, in bathrobe and head wrap, came out to douse the communal torch outside her door. Here was a chance to test the program. 

"Evening, Miz Howell."

"Mr Jakers! What brings you out in the cold?"

"I don't know how to put this; it seems Gilligan has a secret thing for you."

"That's preposterous! I'm old enough to be. . . ." She backed off the age thing. "I mean. . . .the dear boy! But there's no future in it. I'm married, you know." 

"Yes, well, good night." Jakers went back inside and made coffee. Gilligan had dozed off, and the skipper watched Hogan's Heroes, the light flickering on his face.  Jakers slid under the blanket, warm and cozy against the gathering storm. He listened to wind and rain, set his coffee down, suddenly drowsy. 

Was it a dream, or just the program? Gilligan was gone, and the skipper slept in the hammock below. The rain had stopped, and silvery clouds sailed past the ceiling chink. As his eyes adjusted, Jakers saw a shadowy figure by the shutters. He got up to investigate.

"Gilligan?"

Gilligan came into the candle light, a shape from a Saturday horror show. "Good evening. I am the vampire."

That episode had been one of Jakers' favorites. Now it had intruded here, but was it dream or hologram? With a cry of alarm, he shouted the "safe" word that ended the program.

Some time later he awoke in the familiar confines of a barren room with Berens looking down at him. 

"Had yourself quite an adventure, I see. How did you hurt your neck?"

Jakers touched the twin sore spots that had scabbed over on his throat. "This is dangerous, Doc. I'm dropping out. Send me your bill."

Berens followed him out. "It's all relative, you know. The experience relies on your thoughts as you drift off into the dream plane. Want to get better acquainted with Ginger and Mary Ann?"

That stopped Jakers' headlong flight. He turned. "Are you saying that's possible?"

"Anything is possible in quantum dreams."

"I'll, uh. . . .risk another session."

Berens clasped hands contentedly as Jakers walked away. Another five grand in the bank. "Bread and circuses. Give the masses what they want while the walls close in."

Inspiration Reel

 

Good evening fellow writers and artists.  It is a cold winter night, even though the day was a nice 65 degrees. I miss my outdoor office at times.   What is your office/ studio like?  What are you working on currently, or are you just dabbling with a brush or a pen, or with a phone or laptop?  Hope it is a productive night!

Ways to Redirect Creativity

 

Everyone needs a restart, whether it be creating a manuscript or artwork.  Carry a journal or sketchbook in  your pocket or purse.  It's a freedom to get out the static by reorganizing the mind.  Since many are homebound it becomes a bit more of a challenge keeping up with our mental health.. Our social media platforms for our socialization has become the strange norm of keeping up with friends and family.  I still use the phone to a friend or family and let them know you are thinking about them.  Covid has affected us in so many ways with a rippling effect that hasn't stopped.   

Journaling has always been a way of self discovery and pulling out more details of a story, a particular character for me and gets the creative mind in gear.  Nevermind the grammar, it's just you and the spiral bound notebook and a pen.  Write out first thing in the morning with a quiet place for five or ten minutes.  Try to get three pages down.   Write out your concerns, events of yesterday or whatever suits your venture in journaling. 

Or try a photo, any photo and describe it. A photo is worth lots of words.  Freewriting is what it is, put anything in there. If writing is not your thing, try the sketch pad and dub it morning sketches.

Ready for the Night

 Well it's been a long two weeks.  Had a sinus headache, the kind that hurt to think.  Alas God told me it's time to take a break and come back to make the story stronger. I am reminded to add a 12 year old character into the story, and he needed  his own character sketch. The book is going to be interesting since he is going to help change the course near the end. "When the cat's away, the mice will play"goes the saying.  Meanwhile the main character is crossing an icy bogland alone.

I might be coping the best I can with the pandemic and being cooped up for a year at home with the kids. Homeschool is good, the kids are doing great

What are you working on tonight?  Writing or art project?   Have a coffee with us in our corner, or step it up with wine or add Kahlua.  Let's see what happens when trying to be productive.  Got my outline and music, always have to have music to keep the mind going. During an action scene, definitely a soundrack to a good movie.  

Like my new inspiration?  Can't help to think spring with the roses.  A bonsai tree, but when we move soon.    Stay awhile...

Art Strategy: Paste-up

 

Pasting an image--especially one that looks out of place--into a scene is a quick way to create whatever mood you're aiming for. This is obviously for comics. If you plan to use such an image in a published work, make sure the background is non-copyright art. This one served as a model for one of my comic panels. You don't need this much detail in the forest, since you want the main figure to stand out.

Manawyddan the Son of Llyr — tale 3 Summary and Criticism

In London Manawyddan regrets that his cousin Caswallawn now rules the Welsh region Bendigeid, his brother, had. Pryderi, who is with him, agrees he should marry Rhiannon. This occurs when they return to Wales. Pryderi is married to Kieva. After Pryderi visits Caswallawn and returns there is a violent storm and mist; and when the mist clears there is nothing around, neither man nor domesticated animal nor building, save for the empty houses of the Court. After consuming the available provision, they hunted; but in the second year they became bored. The took up first, saddle making, then shield making, then shoe making; but in each profession their work was so excellent that the local craftsmen were unable to sell their product, and schemed to murder the two and their wives. Each time they moved on to another town, and took up the next profession.

Afterward they returned to their home, and one day the two men out hunting came upon a  castle, in which their dogs ran in chasing a boar. Pryderi went in to look for the dogs and did not come back out. Later in the day Manawyddan retuned to his palace without Pryderi, which greatly upset Rhiannon. She went to the castle, and like Prydri touched a bowl at a fountain and became frozen there. Then, the castle vanished. Manawyddan takes up shoe-making until there is a plot to kill him; and he returns to Narberth, where he planted three fields of wheat. One day he was going to harvest the wheat of one filed, but the night before someone went off with the wheat. This happened with the second field, too. The next night he waited in the field, and saw a hoard of mice eat the wheat. He caught one, and in daylight he was going to execute it for theft. A scholar came up to him, and found the deed below him. He would pay a small amount to let the mouse go. This was refused. Then came a priest who offer more; but this was rejected. Finally, a bishop came, and offered more and more, finally saying that the mouse was his wife. The bishop had placed a charm on the area, including the castle, because of Pryderi’s inflicting pain on Gwawl, who once had wanted to marry Rhiannon. Manawyddan kept refusing until he had the promise that Pryderi and Rhiannon would be freed, and there would be no further revenge on them. The two and the rest of the people reappeared, and the bishop turned the mouse back into a woman.


Criticism

This follows the first tale of Pwyll and Rhiannon. There is a certain likeness too in the mood, that is, charming. Manawyddan, however, appears introduced into the third tale by someone who wanted to unite the tales. Manawyddan is from the Ordovices of northern Wales, Pryderi from the Silures, a tribe of the south. Narberth is in the south, which is not Manawyddan’s residence in tale 2.

Branwen the Daughter of Llyr — Tale 2 Criticism

As I was starting to write a criticism, I received a book by a scholar whose field is ancient Celtic literature. The scholar, Peter B. Ellis, cautions using Lady Charlotte Guest's text. I understand from an academic standpoint. However, Ellis's book targets the popular market, making that, too, a problem. In any case, my criticism will not reach academia; and I read another translation.

I see the events of this tale as occurring immediately after the withdrawal of the Roman troops. From the west came Norse invaders, from the east Irish tribes and marauders. From my (scant) reading, it appears that the area the Irish invaded had been partly depopulated, so that resistance would not be great. In the tale, what is a welcoming of the man and woman with the pot, and the rapid growth of their numbers and fortification of their territory, likely was a remembrance of an invasion put in innocuous terms. The same might have been with Bendigeid's invasion of Ireland. Certainly, in the generation after the withdrawal of Roman troops the Welsh would not have been strong enough to invade Ireland. What might have happened is that the Welsh led a reconquest of their lands, and this was much later misinterpreted as a conquest of Ireland.

The tribes of southern Wales play a subordinate role to those of the north. The southern tribes, notably the Silures, readily adapted to Roman ways. Archeological aerial photography located a dozen Roman villas in the south. The north, occupied by the Ordovices, was garrisoned by the Romans. The Ordovices must have looked askance at the southern Welsh tribes, the territory of Pryderi, and this have found its way into the tale.

Bendigeid Vran (or Bran) is identified with Bron, the Fisher King. Vran is mortally wounded by a poison arrow in the leg. The fisher king is lame. The story of the Fisher King is a most intriguing tale in Medieval literature, but it breaks off before the ending; then, four authors took up the tale. The head of Bendigeid Vran is buried on a hill in London protecting the country from invasion, and later disinterred. This serves as a reason after the fact for why there were invasions. Ellis writes that King Arthur (in legend, of course) disinterred the head, to his regret. Ellis must have his source for this. It is not in the tale.