Dreamer

Channeling anger, articulating

...Rage.

All I really want is to sit

...Rocking on my own front porch.

Long pulls on the beer by my side;

...Caressing the Weatherby.

Useful in picking off

...Trespassers who choose to

Ignore the signs at the head

...of the drive.

© 1992 by Angharod Brown-Bair published in The Trestle Creek Review

There are three stories behind this little piece. It was a class assignment; we were to write something in 30 minutes that related to not only our dreams but advice we'd gotten from others.

I was struggling with an English essay in another class. That morning I'd spoken to a classmate...Susan...who had asked me what I was trying to SAY in my essay. Hotly I explained my views on the use of therapeutic marijuana to ease the side effects of cancer treatments. Calmly she said...

"Okay, your foundation is built...all you need now is to channel your anger, and articulate that rage on paper."

In less than 30 seconds that woman taught me almost everything I know about communicating ideas. Rest in peace to her, she passed away a few years ago, after years of dedication to the preservation of wet-lands and birds.

Many years before I went to college, I had a very funny friend who had bought land sight unseen, before learning it was actually acres of uninhabitable peat bog. An eternal optimist, he had made light of his mistake, joking that he would become the Peat Baron of North America. He said that all he wanted was to retire to his own front porch somewhere, drink beer and shoot trespassers. It sounded good to me. I hope he managed it, although his land speculating never seemed to pan out very well.

Anyway when it came time to write for the class...those thoughts were running around in my head, and it must have turned out okay, because Dreamer was actually one of two of my first published pieces in The Trestle Creek Review, a respected Chap book in the northwest.

Being published is a huge boost for a writer's ego, like no other I can imagine. Being paid for writing is a good second, but the thumping heart one gets from seeing that fledgling effort on a page is validation that can never be equaled. TCR sent me a polite half sheet acceptance letter, which is framed and hanging on my 'memory wall', right next to the monitor.

Unfortunately, I don't look at it enough to develop an ambitious work ethic about writing.