Dreamy Thoughts from Indie author Kristy Tate, today’s guest on the blog…
Thank you, James, for inviting me to your blog. I’ve always been fascinated with dreams. In fact, last night I was plagued with nightmares. I don’t know why. I’m blaming it on the chocolate bunny I ate. That way, if I ever come across another chocolate bunny in September, I’ll remember my night of terror. In reality, the bunny probably had nothing to do with my series of scary dreams, but it seems like an effective dieting ploy and I’m going with it.
The other day I came home after being gone for several hours, let the dog in the house and went upstairs. Grendel, my dog, followed. At this point, things turned strange. Grendel, usually mild mannered, became a lunatic. She was sure there was an intruder/creature/monster in Miranda’s room. Having read more than my fair share of murder mysteries, I armed myself with one of my husband’s crutches (to keep the unseen fiend at bay) and a can of aerosol hairspray (to blind fiend.) Grendel and I entered the room. I slowly circled, hairspray aloft and crutch extended, while Grendel continued her Schnauzer-gone-crazy yipping. I refused to look under the bed, or in the closet, or leave the house. I closed the door, tied Grendel up next to the door, so should the intruder/creature/monster be silly enough to leave via the hall the dog would sound an alarm, and I took my computer to the furthest corner of the house and sat down to write. After a few minutes I forgot the intruder/creature/monster.
This is a parable to real life and especially to the life of an artist. When we are afraid, we’re a lot like Grendel—barking for little reason, making ourselves crazy with doubt. Eventually someone ties us up until we can be sane.
Usually, we tie our own knots. It’s easy to get tangled up in fears and doubts. And the justifications for stepping away from art are legion: I’m not any good. The critics are mean. I’m wasting my time and money. That one star review really hurt. I should become a nurse, trash collector, teacher, or janitor and engage in something that makes a contribution to the world.
You can read about this in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic, The Secret Garden. (If you aren’t familiar with this story, then you need to stop reading this blog and go and read everything by Frances Hodgson Burnett.)
“So long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his fears and weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and reflected hourly on humps and early death, he was a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac who knew nothing of the sunshine and the spring and also did not know that he could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. When new beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him, his blood ran healthily through his veins and strength poured into him like a flood.” Colin is told, ‘Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.’
If we (I) continue to nurture our (my) fears and doubts, books won’t be written and we run the risk of becoming like Colin, a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac… or maybe just a chocolate eating bunny person prone to nightmares.
And about Kristy…
Kristy is the mom of six incredibly brilliant and beautiful children, and the author of many not quite as brilliant and beautiful novels, although several have been Amazon bestsellers (the books, not the kids.) Kristy studied English literature at Brigham Young University and at BYU’s International Center in London. Although a long time resident of Orange County, California where she lives with her family, Kristy’s heart belongs in her hometown of Arlington, Washington, AKA Rose Arbor–the fictional setting of her popular Rose Arbor series.
Kristy’s Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent, a teen time traveling romance and an I Heart Indie’s Contest finalist, is only .99 cents for a limited time. You can buy it here, http://amzn.to/1tVRZeU
What’s it about?
When Petra Baron goes into the fortuneteller’s tent at a Renaissance fair, she expects to leave with a date to prom. Instead, she walks out into Elizabethan England, where she meets gypsies, a demon dog and a kindred spirit in Emory Ravenswood.
Emory must thwart the plans of religious zealots. His mission is dangerous, his enemies are fanatical, and Petra Baron is a complication that Heaven only knows he does not need. Or does he? Although Emory is on Heaven’s errand, he learned long ago that Heaven does not always play fair.
As Petra slowly falls for Emory, she wonders if he really is who he seems, or if he is just as lost as she is. How can they have a future while trapped in the past? Or is anything possible Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent?
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