Well, here I go again, filling up my day with writing projects for clients, and skidding into the deadline for the Ultimate Blog Challenge, Day 18. This has to post before midnight on October 18, and here it is quarter past the last hour of the day, and the best I can come up with is a survey question:
What kind of Halloween story should I tell next week?
I’m booked for a storytelling gig next Saturday night, October 25, for spooky, ghost-y stories at the Barley Mow Brewing Company in Largo. The thing is, one of the other tellers specializes in ghost stories, another has a website dedicated to tales of horror, and the other has such a large repertoire of stories of all types that you just know he’s gonna blow everyone away.
Me? I like the lighter side of Halloween. I have a cute story from my series of story-poems about savvy, spunky, six-year-old Sal. “Sal and the Pumpkin, Patch” tells how Sal picks out a pumpkin to decorate for her town’s Pumpkin Festival. She names the pumpkin Patch, because after dropping him on the ground a few times, the pumpkin needed some patching up.
There’s also an original about how the Wind came to live in (insert customized location here) The Barley Mow Brewing Company. I like this one, too. It’s for grown-ups, but only because the story is kind of involved, too much for little kids to follow.
So, fellow bloggers, should I go with the cute and funny story poem, lighten up the mood a bit? Or should I go with the more involved but still lightly humorous story about the Wind that haunts the Barley Mow Brewing Company?
Or … should I do something daring?
See, I had a really weird dream the other night, and part of it just won’t let go.
In this dream, my former hubby, Tom, is leaning against the wall leading to my hallway, home office, and spare room. He’s been dead for over twenty years, now, and I haven’t had a Tom dream in a while.
As I walk toward him, I notice that he’s aged appropriately for our years, has now grown a beard that is a little grey but mostly reddish, the same red it was when we were in our twenties, and he looks … worried. About me.
In the dream, I’m aware that he’s dead, and I tell him how much I’ve missed him.
“I’m always with you, you know,” he says, and gives a nod to the spoon ring he gave me the Christmas when we were 19. I’ve always worn it, even after our divorce. It’s unusual. Most of the rings I’ve seen made from tableware were made from the tines of forks. This was from the handle of a spoon. Sterling silver. Joan of Arc pattern. Patron saint of martyrs and militants.
We will not speculate on what wearing what is essentially a silver medallion honoring martyrdom has done to my psyche. Work with me, here.
I look down at the ring, and for the first time I notice that its polished silver surface returns my reflection. I’m sure it always has, I just never noticed it before. As I ponder this, I notice the silver start to brighten, and I see Tom’s face looking at me from the smooth surface of the spoon handle.
POOF! That’s where I wake up, and for some reason, I think there’s a supernatural kind of story to be written about this aberration, this apparition, in my spoon ring.
What do you think? Should I junk the fun Halloween stories I already have performance-ready? Or should I allow this weird dream to take me to a slightly darker tale?
Inquiring minds on deadline want to know …
(and look! 10 minutes to spare for UBC!)
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