A Woman's Prerogative....
to change her mind, her dress, her hairstyle, her job - and most especially, her life.
Random comments by erotic romance author EVE JAMESON
Warning: if you're under 18, go away. If you're over 18 and are offended by graphic comments, stories, descriptions and words related to sex, save yourself the aggravation and exit this blog. Thank you.
All text (especially-but not limited to-excerpts from stories) are written and under copyright by Eve Jameson.
Vivid colors, wild action and crazy plots – that’s been my dreams since I was a child dreaming about battling my way through a stormy chocolate sea with a blue teddy bear as we fought killer cupcakes with razor-sharp fangs the size of my arm. Remembering my dreams has rarely been a problem unless I’m jerked out of them so suddenly by an alarm clock that it shocks the dream right out of my memory. Most elements of my dreams I can connect to something going on in my life if I try but normally, I just don’t care to try. They’re too weird and I have too much fun simply remembering them to allot some profound mystical meaning to them.
What got me on this topic is the dream I just had this morning. It was a very long dream like most of them but in a nutshell - I was racing through crowded city streets in this enormous boat of an old car which didn’t slow me down at all as I zigzagged between cars and took corners going waaaaayyyy too fast. There were four passengers – my mother, Bruce Willis and a large black man from the 70’s (huge afro, those really big sunglasses and a light blue polyester three-piece suit) and Toto from The Wizard of Oz (who wasn’t talking, just barking at Bruce) and we were all involved in one of those stereotypical Greek-Italian conversations, one of those loud, friendly arguments that include a lot of emphatic gestures. I took a wrong turn and got lost (a normal IRL occurrence). Instead of winding up at my friend’s house, I ended up in front of a restored warehouse restaurant with bright yellow plaster hands reaching down from the overhang at you as you walked in the door. The lobby was filled with statues of people fleeing in terror, but inside the restaurant itself, the decor was a very calm, stream-lined Zen sort of sophisticated, upscale bistro. We had just sat down when my cell phone rang and I had to leave to pick Antigone up from the airport. And then the dream really started to get strange….
Now I’m just sure someone could come up with all sorts of interesting interpretations. I, however, choose to enjoy the wackiness of the dream, laugh at the picture of my mother yelling at Bruce Willis and think about how I might use that dream in a story sometime. A number of my stories have been influenced or started by dreams, but that’s for another post because now, I need some coffee!
Hope you've had a great summer and I'll be back this coming week with an excerpt from Myrra's story.