Monday, June 20, 2011

Dreams And A Bit Of Ass Kickin' By Angelina Jolie


I’ve been busy with a million other things the last few months. I’ve written on two different blogs here and there and half of a chapter, that’s it. The voices in my head are quiet and, to be perfectly honest, I’m okay with that. I’ve neglected life for way too long, so I understand pay back’s a bitch.

When I was writing full steam, I usually worked out my plot problems in my sleep. I’m not an outliner because that seems like it would take too much time. I prefer a nice drive in the countryside, a longer-than-I-should shower to think through my hang-ups, or a nice trip to dreamland.

Last night I went to bed thinking about my neglected w.i.p. The dream started okay and then went all crazy from there. Soon, Angelina Jolie was after me. She must’ve been some sort of spy/bad ass (Has she been anything else?). She was jumping on cars, swinging from balconies, all sorts of madness, trying to hunt me down. But I was always one-step ahead, most likely because I’ve seen every episode of Alias more than once and all of Sydney Bristow’s prowess must’ve rubbed off--minus the lean and mean body.

So I’m on the run. Not sure why and just when I think I’m going to out run her, Angie nabs me. She has me in the chair, just like in the first episode of Alias, except my hair was not bright red, it was in three pigtails (yeah, I’m not sure either). I’m wiggling my wrists trying to get out of the ropes, all the while staring that bleepity bleep down. She’s just as skinny in person, btw, so I know as soon as I get loose, I’m gonna kick her bony ass all the way back to Brad Pitt.

I know that my time in the chair isn’t going to go without a bit of torture. At some point, someone—Angie—is going to pull out the dental tools and threaten to pull out my teeth. Maybe that bespectacled Chinese man will  wheel into the room and seek revenge for what Agent Bristow did to him.

Instead of dental tools, Ms. Jolie pulled out a different sort of torture device—an electric razor. She clicked it on, I jumped of course, because that first click of the razor is like metal to metal or nails on a chalkboard. I hate it. My husband has me shave his neck between cuts and for some reason the buzzing vibration makes my nose itch.

“Talk.” Jolie pushed the razor near my face.

“Nice weather we’re having.” What else was I supposed to say?

She turned around and yelled, “Bring in the girl.”

I glanced into the hall where some wiry looking guy pushed a woman into the room. She stumbled onto the floor and as she found her footing, I realized it was the main character to my mystery/suspense novel.

The bad news for me is my MC isn’t the smartest girl in times of crisis. It's as if someone is rubbing my nose in my writer's block. I know I left the poor girl hanging mid-trauma, I have to save her from Angelina too?

“What do you want from me?” I said it in that low Ima-gonnna-kick-yer-ass voice.

“I need to know where the serum is?”

Seriously, could she be more clichéd? Wait, maybe if she asked for the microchip. I looked over at my MC and back to Angelina and shrugged. This dream sucked. I wasn't even skinny. 

“Maybe this’ll change your mind.” Angie walked towards my MC and knocked her to her knees. She fisted a wad of her hair and forced eye contact before zapping off my character's eyebrows. She wailed as if she’d just had one of her twelve-year molars yanked out by Arvin Sloane's toady. I watched her simpering, with her one eyebrow, and I said the only thing I thought right.

“Kill her.”

Do you blame me? Who needs a wimp? She let me down. She coulda jujitsued Angie’s ass and saved the day. I gave her the opportunity to stop being a pansy and what did she do? She got her eyebrow buzzed. And for those who know me well know I don’t like painted on eyebrows—creeps me out.

Seriously, what’s up with it? And don’t shoot me back with reasons why people have to pencil their brows in. I’m talking about purposeful, over plucked weirdness.  


Like this:
  



And this:





And this:





How am I going to write a "She furrowed her brow" or a "Her brows drew together" when her brows are actually drawn together? Anyway, I can’t remember what happened in my dream after that. Don’t really care.  All I know is I want to go back through my ’script and make sure my MC is consistent, not lame, and fully browed. (That's a word, right? If not, it should be.)


What are the ways you work through your w.i.p? Do you dream about your character? And, more importantly, what’s your view on crazy eyebrows? 

7 comments:

Trisha said...

Those brows are creepy!!

Jessica A. Briones said...

What were these girls thinking? And who told them it looked good? Gosh that's awful!

The ways in which I work through my w.i.p is by talking it out --- yes I talk to myself and my kids thinks I am nuts, I constantly get asked who I am talking to, lol! And sometimes the story creeps into my dream and that the end of a good night sleep.

Elisabeth Hirsch said...

I LOVED every bit of this LOL!

Plus, this line is just classic! :0)
"How am I going to write a 'She furrowed her brow' or a 'Her brows drew together' when her brows are actually drawn together?"

Raquel Byrnes said...

LOL! This was so funny! If you write books like this, I can't wait to read what you're working on, :)

Ready, Aim, Hook Me said...

That is one freaky dream. I love the shaving of the brow--torture I could handle. So funny. Your MC does need to get a bit tougher, but I think she's getting there, these next couple of chapters she's going to come through. I can tell. Now go write it.

M Pax said...

I enjoyed reading about your dream. Seems your MC is haunting you.

Rosemary Gemmell said...

You have some crazy dreams! And those eyebrows are nightmarish. I'd love to say I go to bed thinking about my WIP and waken with the next bit of the plot. But that only happens to other people.