Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Spark That Started The Idea For The Novel: in dream, art, poem, and song

The idea for my novel began with a dream. In it, I saw a face—half alien, orange skin, and a large two-sectioned eye on the side of a half-oval head. The creature was flat.
Flat on the wall. I was walking down a dusty temple—possibly the inside of a pyramid. There were hieroglyphs on the walls. There were paintings of these alien creatures in poses that you might expect Egyptian art to display. A leg in the air; both arms outstretched.
I was alone in this dream, and I kept checking over my shoulder. I noticed that these alien creatures on the walls were changing. They wouldn’t move when I looked back at them, but I could tell that they were following me down this hallway. They were more than just ancient paintings. They reverted back to the sides. They were flat.

As I exited the temple, I finally encountered one before a background of a setting sun. It glared at me with its one big eye.

It spoke: “What questions of the meek follow time of terror?” I didn’t respond to it, so it continued, “Where did we fall?”

The alien lifted one of its arms. It was cybernetic and metal. It was twisting with gears and gadgets. It didn’t say anything else, but it made me feel as if there was a price for progression—and humanity wouldn’t see it coming until it was too late.

I woke up. I jotted it all down and then returned to sleep.

For years I drew that alien in my art classes, notebooks, math homework, or on anything. Years later, I formed a rock band and made the words it said into a song:

Download the song here!

 
Poem version of the song:
What questions of the meek follow times of terror?
Where did we fall? What was our error?
Humanity entombed in this silent prayer:
Where did we fall? What was our error?
With ties tied up, my friend,
you'll flail, you'll fight, but you'll drown.
With tides tying up the shore,
dark tidings turn around.
Can we move on my friend?
We used to move on and on and on...
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Now, this dream has finally sparked the product of a novel (which I knew almost from the day of the dream it would someday). It is fitting that I begin this blog with a recollection of my dream—its evolution into art, song, and poem—because its final form is this novel I’ve created.


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