Tag: fiction

Pitching a Novel?

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Last night we watched the last episode of “Stranger Things”. The last section was long and painfully drawn out filled with American saccharin and apple pie idealism. It was a bit “pass the sick bag”. We had to wait for the predictable ending for quite a while. It went out with a damp squib. No tenterhooks. Overall “Stranger Things” has been enjoyable, original and different.

Which led me to thinking, “could I do better?”

Anyway I am back to the notion of a novel. The theory being that my USP is that I once was a kosher scientist and I have a fairly deep understanding of the occult. I am no longer a practicing scientist in that I do not earn a living therefrom. There are not many like me.

That brings me back to the whole publishing minefield where many publishers require an agent. There are scam-self publishing houses or one can do Amazon-Kindle self-publishing. There are people who take advantage of the gullible who want to be published.

I know enough about how self-publishing works.

There is a catch 22.

Why write a book if it will be a complete ball ache to get published?

Is it possible to get an in principle interest from either an agent or a publisher before starting a book?

An advance seems impossible.

The big drawback in all this is getting enthusiasm for promotion. I am not sure I could be arsed.

My pitch to venture capital success rate remains very good. But I had to write a business plan for that, even if it did not get read until after the pitch. There was a manuscript of sorts with graphs, projections and shit like that.

I am pretty confident that I can come up with something original. Would it be too highbrow? Maybe. Perhaps there would not be enough intrigue, violence and shagging though. Mobile ‘phone use could be a little too sparse.

I am really not turned on by the idea of being a published author, in the book sense. I don’t want to be the story teller aiming at a world with three waterfalls…I don’t know what motivates others. There is a lot of “advice” on line about how to pitch, how to go ahead. Some of it seems very scam…

A novel would give me something to do. It is statistically unlikely to generate any revenue. The Kindle route is cost free but they hassle you for USA tax documentation. There is a lot of spam. The last dealings I had with prospective agents were unsatisfactory. I have had responses from small niche publishing houses and I did get one or two indications of at least an alleged willingness to read a manuscript. The responses were not rote bulk nor at the time AI bot generated. I still have these emails.

I have previously been interested in testing the limits of possibility…you never know where an idea can go, what it might evolve in to…

Hmnn…

Random – Buffalo Shaman – P&L Dream 28-10-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 7:30. I am going to open a new dream theme “random” and apply it to dreams which seemingly have little to do with me although I may feature therein.

My anticipation is that the dreaming will fade going towards surgery. It will then lay relatively dormant. This anticipation could be wrong.

The dream opens in a large room, part of a town hall and near a registry office. Sat around the room on large “leather” bound sofas are a collection of jet black men. They are all very smartly if non-standardly dressed. They look a little like characters out of a 1930s movie by their vintage clothing choice. There is some jollity and mirth. They are all Nigerian and gathered for a Nigerian wedding. They are big blokes and I think that they would make a good pack of rugby forwards.

I am to marry an Irish woman Aishleen to one of them. She is in the next room waiting in a white wedding dress.

I look down to the inside of my right wrist. There is  a white, made of bone, emblem there. It is a skull of a buffalo with bead decorations on the horns. The emblem is mostly two dimensional and is attached to me, tattoo like as opposed to affixed. One of the Nigerians says that I am the Buffalo shaman and that I must practice the rite. I gather the men together holding hands in a circle. We sing and chant a little.

They notice in one corner of the room a brilliant white laboratory style mouse. I must sacrifice it. To do this I take a book from the bookshelf and use it to squash the mouse. They cheer me on to do this. I squash the mouse and it flattens then disappears. It is OK now for the marriage to go ahead.

The scene changes and I am walking around South London near a park. The road is on top of a slope behind some metal railings and the park is in the valley below. It is in Streatham. I follow the road and go into a club house of sorts there is a meeting. The local “council” are discussing closing public toilets as a cost saver. I say that this is stupid as the cost saving is tiny. The lead for the meeting says that the finances are dire. I asks him to show me. He comes back with a summary statement. I say that no, I want the entire profit and loss, P&L accounts to peruse. Give me all the detail. That is the best thing I can do for them to do a thorough look as an objective outsider. I say that I think they are losing the plot.

He comes back with a full accounts setting and a younger woman clerk. She is dark haired, ample and around 40. I recognise her. He says that she will help me. She asks me if I remember where I met her all those years ago. She says that it was a 4 AM in the morning walking along Turners Road when I was accustomed to doing my late night walks. She says that we went back to hers for some more drinks. For some reason non sexual we are close.

As I wake up I think “random”…

The dream ends.

Total Recall – Arnie Version

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The other night we watched the 35 year-old version of “Total Recall” starring Arnie. I have reached the age when all remakes cannot ever be better than the original.

Spoiler alert….

The gist of the plot is that Hauser has his mind adjusted so that he thinks he is Doug Quaid a builder and wielder of pneumatic tools, who then goes on a convoluted journey to infiltrate the underground resistance on Mars whilst trying to restore his memory. After Kuato the leader of the resistance is killed Quaid then refuses to be mind  wiped back so that he becomes once again the fascist special agent Hauser. There is a plot twist where which reality is real is tested. Quaid is led to believe that he has paid for a secret agent mind-trip at a company called Rekall. The Quaid/Hauser superposition is unsure. In the end the Quaid nice guy dominates and he sets off an alien machine to provide Mars with a breathable atmosphere.

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One scene suggests that the lowly manual worker Quaid is living out his fantasy as a Martian secret agent. It is all a bit far-fetched and the special effects, though leading at their time, now look a bit Blue Peter.

This is what co-pilot suggests for the above text.

“The plot follows Hauser, who is made to believe he is Doug Quaid, a builder on Mars. As Quaid, he becomes involved with the resistance, trying to regain his true identity. After the resistance leader Kuato is killed, Quaid refuses to revert to his former role as a ruthless agent. The story blurs reality and illusion, leaving Quaid uncertain whether his experiences are real or just a memory implant from Rekall. Ultimately, Quaid chooses his better nature and activates an alien device that gives Mars a breathable atmosphere.

One scene hints that Quaid’s life may just be a fantasy of being a secret agent. While the premise is a stretch, the once-impressive special effects now feel dated.”

AI has adjusted the reality…which is very considerate of it.

I guess we each choose our own narrative(s).

I have lost count how many dreams are in this blog. In the film Quaid is asked to consider if whatever he is experiencing is nothing more than a dream and therefore easily discounted.

With my feet grounded in everyday physical plane reality it is very simple to adopt the advice.

The everyday reality is simple enough. I can only rely on the measurable. Which tells me that around a dozen people read the blog according to WordPress stats. So were I to bin it only these would miss it. The basic reality is that I am a retired person with hip arthritis. Two decades ago I was a university teacher. {Assuming this is not a paid for implanted memory}. More recently I was a private tutor for ~6 years during which time I taught “A” level physics and chemistry. That is about it. I can still chop wood and do some gardening chores. My cooking skills are perhaps a little above average for savoury. The only “cakes” I ever made were hash cookies which were tasty and potent. Rocky was better than Leb, more chocolatey and unctuous…

In the circles I move in, life is very simple. On the cards is a visit to the hospital for a new hip. I will then be doing physio. Sometime around spring if we are not kicked out of France by the NF, I may be lucky enough to get a second operation after which I may eventually walk a bit better.

I am toying  with the idea of doing a blog / vlog about by incoming experience.

hip-hop-hip-op.fr and Bolshoi-hips.fr are currently available as is hippy-mchipface.fr

I’ll wager that such a blog would be more widely read…

I suspect that I could write something which is not dire, fearful and boring…perhaps when I was last at Rekall I purchased a mind-trip extension which includes delusions of creative writing capability…

Who can tell?

Dreaming Courses Dream – 14-08-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream had between 4 and 6 AM. Again another one seemingly out of the blue.

The dream starts in a faculty office. Behind a large desk is a woman in her 40/50s. She is powerful and dressed in an expensive skirt and jacket suit with a royal blue shirt. She exudes wealth and she is very accustomed to getting her own way, obeyed even. She tells me that the faculty have agreed to my proposals for a course on dreaming and that I may go ahead with these courses on an experimental basis. She needs to be kept in the loop of developments. She thinks that I am fearful and subordinate to her. When I simply very relaxed and fluid. I know that she has other agendas which she is trying to forward and that there are politics going on behind the scene. She hands me a book of mounted photos like a book of material swatches used in fashion or decorating design. The book of “swatches” has covers and I cannot see the contents. She intimates that she wants these included in the courses.

Her office leads out onto a full or partial quadrangle with a covered ambulatory or walk way. It has a light reddish-brown brick. There are cobbles in the quad. It feels a little like Greenwich but also has a sense of Berkley CAL. There is a history and the word meridian is to mind. On the side wall of the ambulatory there is a small wooden display case with a lockable glass front. In this cabinet I will display course synopsis for the passing footfall of students.

I go into an open room with whitewashed walls and a dark red stone or painted concrete floor. I am met there by a younger woman who has been assigned as to help me and, to keep an eye on me. She asks me why I think that there are no definitive books on dream content. I say that by their very nature dreams are nebulous and not well suited to reductionist quasi-logical methods. Dreaming is dreaming and it has to be approached via dreaming and not structure. Sense-making can hinder dreaming significantly.

I open the book of swatches to show to her. Inside it are photos of some kind of Tibetan centre, out in the country. There are images of coloured prayer flags blowing in the wind. One of small stupa only a few metres high. There are western white participants and a very few Tibetans dressed monastically. I know the word Drukpa is associated. It is clear that a part of the agenda from the powerful woman relates to Tibetan dream practices. There is more agenda.

The young woman has a notion that in dreaming cultures there is always a myth and a mythos. That these grow up around the dreams and the reporting thereof. As a part or her research she would like to see if we can seed a myth and a mythos into those participating in the dreaming. Rather than that being an ancient hagiography she wants to seed an artificial mythos and see where it goes. She ushers me over to the back of the room where there is a museum style display case with a sloping horizontal glass covered display. Under this are full depth “admiralty” drawers containing specimens. She pulls out one draw and there packed in cotton wool nests are several rock specimens. She selects a grey and black speckled “agate” egg. The black is dark like obsidian

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She says that this will or could be the dream egg around which we start to create a dream mythos or myth. She is excited and I say that I am happy to explore this avenue but that it needs fleshed out. We can use the egg for the birth of the course, metaphorically.

The power woman, the principle, from before knocks and enters the room.  She is wearing high heels which have been tricky on the cobbles. I show her two pages of A4 text which will serve as a flier for the course. This text will go into the cabinet. She asks what the syllabus will be and I say that the syllabus will be decided to a large extent by the attendees and mostly by dreams. She looks sceptical.

I usher her over to a tarpaulin. On which are several plants in black plastic pots tied to short bamboo supports. I say that these are going to go into the green house and that these will comment upon and be a part of the course. I ask if she would like to help us plant them. Yes. We load half the plants onto a flatbed trolley and head out of the quad-building to the university allotment where our greenhouse is. Together we all plant the plants. The principle comments that she found it very enjoyable and that it is the first time for a very long while that she has had dirt under her nails.

We go back to the quad room. The principle asks about a web presence or page. At her prompt I know that I have to send someone a link to the dream yoga blog as it currently stands. I will do this after I have written up and posted this dream.

The dream ends and I note with some surprise on my way back from the bathroom that its exactly 6:00 AM…

Best Ever Dream – Dancing With Ganesh Dream 20-9-19

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Still a bit shaky. I have just woken from my afternoon nap, which usually results from my midday codeine. It is a few weeks after I broke the head of my femur and had it repaired with a Titanium nail. I was taken to A&E in an ambulance. I am using a Zimmer frame and have a hospital bed downstairs.

Wow! That was the most intense dream I have ever had.

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I arrive at the edge of a walled garden and am welcomed through a large gateway by an upright Ganesh. He has all the typical elephant features, but his gait is that of a human being. He is iridescent blue in colour and has a twinkle in his eyes. I am welcomed into his “humble abode”. He shows me around his palace gardens, gardens that are tropical and scented. There are flowers everywhere. The garden is filled with water features. He takes me to a partially covered courtyard which has red-brown gravel. The pieces of gravel are near perfect spheres. He sits me down and we take tea together brought by his servants. I understand that this courtyard is where he practises his dancing.

A group of Indian musicians file in and seat themselves on the ground. Ganesh signals to them and they start playing. He gets up and starts to dance. His movements are exquisite, and his hands alternate between mudras beautifully and each mudra is exact and precise. He beckons me and starts to teach me some steps of his dance. {In the dream my leg functions fine.} Slowly I get the steps and we are starting to whirl and circle. It is entrancing. He stops suddenly and takes a blue-metallic AUM symbol out of his tunic. He walks over to me and presses it on my Anja centre. Slowly it penetrates and dissolves into me. I am left with a tattoo like impression on my skin. Ganesh smiles radiantly and we continue to dance.

I look at my body and notice that it has somehow taken on the same hue as Ganesh, which pleases me greatly in the dream. He laughs, at my surprise.

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I awake with a start and my first instinct is look at my arms. They are not blue. They are lightly tanned and freckled with a few bruises from all the needles. It takes a while to assemble the reality of the room. I get up and go outside to smoke.

Myeloid Bone Biopsy – Charlie Chaplin Cars – Elephant – Blood Tests Dream 22-06-2025

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Here are last night’s dreaming segments.

The dream starts in a hospital operating theatre. There are people dressed in blue medical scrubs and with face masks and gloves on. On the screen is an X-ray like image of my right hip joint. They are using the apparatus to guide the placement of a long needle like structure into the ball of my femur and what remains of the gap between. I am awake and partially sat up. I am watching the procedure. A nurse is assisting the man doing the procedure others are monitoring vital signs.

He is saying to me that he is taking a tissue and bone sample for a Myeloid biopsy. The word is specific. They are going inside the bone to take this biopsy. It is important that they do this. This Myeloid sample will be sent off to the labs so that they can get a better understanding of what is going on. The scene is in colour and I can sense the cool air-conditioning in the “operating theatre”.

The scene changes and I am now in a black and white film in an urban setting. I am being chased by people driving black old school Charlie Chapin style cars. It is all very slapstick and the film being projected has a few flaws. The chase is semi frantic on the part of the pursuers. It is keystone cops and farcical. There is much skidding around corners. Although they are pursuing me, I am not interested. I am waiting for the results of my Myeloid biopsy. They will not leave me alone even though I am unwell. They are foolish.

The scene changes and, back in colour, I am at the edge of a field. Along the edge of the field is a fence. The other side of the field is a wood / jungle. The field has just been harvested. In the distance the gap between the wood and the field increases. I can see a small baby elephant. It is standing next to some saplings which are waist height to me. As I move towards him he moves, unhurried, off into the jungle. I arrive and there are two short rows of these saplings with green leaves. They are in a line and each row has several plants. I understand that these saplings are medicinal.

I am now on a Caribbean island; there is a sense of windward. The care home / hospital buts up against a white sandy bay and has a promenade. It is tropical. On one side to the left is the ocean and on the other a well-kept dark green lawn. There are water sprinklers going on the lawn. There are coconut palms. I am a little late for my appointment. I enter the building and there are two women dressed in starchy crisp 1950s style nurses uniforms with little hats. They woman on reception welcomes me very warmly. I am a regular and they like me, care for me. One tall nurse who is white welcomes me in a strong Jamaican patois. I respond in a like dialect only mine is play. She says that even though it is her lunch hour she will see me her “favourite” patient. She is teasing me playfully. She takes blood from the vein in my left elbow joint and from the artery on my right hand. She injects the arterial blood into a gas chromatograph. She says that even though I am something of a pin cushion these days she can always find a blood vessel. There is a sense that these blood tests are a very regular occurrence.

The dream ends.

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Notes:

Myeloid tissue, in the bone marrow sense of the word myeloid (myelo- + -oid), is tissue of bone marrow, of bone marrow cell lineage, or resembling bone marrow, and myelogenous tissue (myelo- + -genous) is any tissue of, or arising from, bone marrow; in these senses the terms are usually used synonymously, as for example with chronic myeloid/myelogenous leukemia.

Homunculus – Homuncule – Children – Hidden Doorway Dream 25-01-24

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I had this dream between 7:07 and 7:30 this morning. I checked the clock on the way back from the loo and went back to bed. I was woken by the central heating clicking on at 7:30 AM.

The dream starts in the living room of a house in France. I am there with the wife. I can see the cat ferreting around on the top shelf of a bookcase. It is trying to get into a black plastic container. I get a small step on stool and reach the black plastic container taking it off the shelf. The cat is very curious and tries to get into the box and I have to shoo it away.

I take the container over to the window. There is no lid. In it I can see a small ~20cm high homuncule {homunculus}. It is curled up and seems to be dead. It looks a bit like an alien “grey”. I prod it gently with a pencil and it does not move.

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{The dream is specific homuncule in French.}

I move away from the window. The cat nearly trips me up and I spill the contents of the container onto the floor. The homuncule lands and the carpet is covered with a shiny silver-grey powder from him which glistens iridescent. The homuncule stands up and walks off to the kitchen. As it moves small mouse like turds fall from off its back. It has been asleep for a very long time. I know that he is very thirsty and is going to get some water. The cat watches but seems too startled to do anything.

I turn around and there are a few, around half a dozen, children standing behind me. They are boys and girls aged around 7 or 8. They are dressed like children in a 1950s US TV programme. The have freckles and are clean and tidy.

I ask them, “quelle langue parles-tu?”

One of the girls say, “um, English, we are from Kivingden in Kent. We have been here a long time.”

I follow the path of the homuncule towards the kitchen. I notice a new white painted metal door has appeared. The door is reminiscent of a naval door designed to prevent water ingress. It has a white metal lever clamped shut which I lift to open the door. I open it and lock the door fully open with a metal rod.

It is a kind of portal.

I can see an industrial metallic staircase spiralling down. It is painted white. The bunker below is very well lit and also painted white. I know it to be extensive and to be a nuclear shelter. I know it is well provisioned and that the homuncule has made it appear and that it is from whence the children came.

I call the wife to come and inspect.

Dream ends.  

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Homuncule : Homme de taille réduite auquel les sorciers ou les alchimistes prétendaient pouvoir donner la vie.