The Voice & The Dream

I don't watch TV hardly at all anymore. There are shows I can definitely get addicted to, but I know what it's like to quickly fill up almost every night with "must"-see TV and I really don't have the time for that. At. All. Seriously, none of it is a "must," but work, family, writing, blogging, Facebook and Twitter are musts. Okay, so maybe not those last three, but they're (usually) more productive than watching TV. Especially when you're networking with and supporting other writers. See - I can justify them. :)

But I have been trying to remember to watch The Voice because one of the contestants, Casey Weston, is local and her father is friends with many of my friends (though I don't think I've actually met him personally). I'm cheering her on and, as of tonight, America gets to vote for her and I have already hit my limit of 10 votes on a single method. There are a couple other methods at my disposal. (You can text and call 1-855-864-2302 to vote for her, if, you know, you want to. You can also vote online at http://www.nbc.com/the-voice/vote/ You can also download her version of Black Horse and the Cherry Tree through iTunes. Just sayin'.)

Anyway, Casey is the same age as my oldest son. Just a couple weeks ago, she was walking across the stage to receive her high school diploma. Hours later she was flying back to L.A. to prepare for taking the stage tonight. Had to be the most surreal time of her life. Talk about stepping out of one world and into another.

I watch her and the other contestants and think about how they are truly going after their dream. Sure, we've seen it on American Idol, but maybe it's the newness of this show that makes it hit home again. Or maybe it's just because Casey herself does hit so close to home, literally. But their courage and perseverance just amaze me.

I suppose these qualities are required for artists, because writers are the same. You are so brave and determined, willing to give everything you have to make your dream come true, even at the risk of public humiliation - even if "public" only means your closest friends and family. You put it all out there to be scrutinized and judged. And every time you write something new, you do it again. And again.

So I feel a bit of a kinship, watching Casey go after her dream as I go after mine. We're living it. So are you, writer friends. And I'm so proud to be able to call you my friends. Don't give up on the dream! You never know where it will take you...

Five for Friday

Blogfests! They're all over the place this month! So this week's Five for Friday is all about blogfests. What I'll be doing this month (I hope you'll join the fun!):

1. Amalia T's Dream Sequence Blogfest - Today, June 4
2. Rachel Bateman's Beach Scene Blogfest - Saturday, June 5
3. Sangu Mandanna's Character Interview Blogfest - Tuesday, June 15
4. Michelle Gregory's Share Your Darlings Blogfest - Thursday, July 1

That's only 4, you say? Of course, this is Five for Friday. Not Four for Friday! What's number 5? My entry for the Dream Sequence Blogfest!

I wrote this sometime last year and it was at one time on my website. This is a dream Alexis had the night she met Tristan. You can read that night over at the Promise excerpts at www.IHavePromise.com. The dream means nothing. Seriously. Don't go reading anything into it. It's just her fascination with "mythical" creatures getting the best of her.

Warning: It's not really that good. I read it now and wonder what the heck I was on while writing it. But I realized all my other dreams give too much away. So here you go...

We sat on the beach by Mom’s cottage at sunset, but neither of us paid attention to the vivid colors in the sky or the whispering waves of the Gulf of Mexico quietly sliding over the sand. Our eyes were on each other. His were sparkling as he smiled slightly, seductively. He lifted his hand to my face and stroked his fingertips across my cheek. I shivered, though all I could feel was warmth spreading over my skin.

“Beautiful,” he murmured in his low, sexy voice.

And I was beautiful in my dream. Not my normal, ordinary self. Chestnut hair, striking mahogany eyes, perfect features…I was as beautiful as my stunning (and somehow forever young) mother. But I was definitely me – my pounding heart and shallow breathing confirmed that.

He leaned in and his mouth pressed against mine, kissing me gently at first, his satiny lips sliding so softly against mine. But as the heat built, the kisses became longing and searching. I opened my mouth slightly and he tasted even more delightful than I expected, like his scent, but intensified. It filled my mouth, coating the back of my throat and I couldn’t get enough of it. I kissed him hungrily, my hands caressing his face and sliding back into his hair, pulling his hard body against me.

We were abruptly lying in the sand. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Tristan's. As he kissed me, his hand slowly, lightly trailed down my side to my waist, then slid under me at the small of my back, pressing me against him. His mouth moved over my chin…along my jaw…down to my throat…kissing and tasting and sucking.

He looked up at me, his eyes smoldering. And that’s when I noticed the fangs. They made perfect sense to my dream-self. He was too beautiful, too perfect to be human, after all.

I smiled to show him I wasn’t scared. His eyes glinted before he bent his head again, his mouth at my throat. My body trembled with anticipation. I wanted him to bite me. Then I felt the pierce and a small sound, a mixture of pain and pleasure, escaped my lips.

He looked up again at my reaction. I could feel the wound already healing – that’s what my body did, healed itself. His eyes sparked as they caught mine, then they darted to the disappearing bite mark on my throat. The fangs disappeared. He was just Tristan again, the Tristan I met in class that night, though saying he was just Tristan was like saying Brad Pitt was just Brad Pitt. But now Tristan’s inhumanly beautiful face was filled with disgust at what my body did. Then suddenly he was gone.

And the pain of loss and betrayal ripped through my body.

“No!” I awoke with a start, disoriented for just a moment.

Of course, I thought as my heart settled down. What else could I expect? Guys like Tristan and girls (freaks) like me just didn’t happen. I just needed to forget about him.

If he would only let me…