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It’s been a while since I’ve had a dream or remembered one.

Last night I dreamt that I was on a flight to somewhere. It seemed like I was traveling alone, which has been the case in my recent travels.

Then suddenly, not that I felt it but knew it was happening, the plane went into a steep descent.

I looked around me and no one else seemed to notice. How could they not know? I remember thinking.

Then a flight attendant flew out of a door, which I assume led to the cockpit, a stocky black-haired, Mexican flight attendant in a grayish-blue uniform that I noted was too tight for his form, and he yelled out: Is there a doctor on board?!

There was silence.

No one seemed to notice him. No head movements looking from side to side. Nothing.

The plane continued to descend.

I got up slowly, reluctantly, walked tenuously to another flight attendant, a Farrah Fawcett look-alike, and as she screamed at me to get back in my seat, I calmly whispered to her, I’m not a doctor.

For a second she stared at me.

–Fine if you’re a nurse, she said, the tension around her eyes relaxing.
–No, no, I responded. I’m a pilot.

Her eyes looked into mine. I stared back defiantly.

I was gripping the seatback trying to keep balance. I still couldn’t feel the plane sharply descending but knew it was and knew that I was supposed to be holding onto something.

There wasn’t Hollywood chaos with screaming babies and hanging oxygen masks. No luggage flying from the overhead bins. Everyone sat perfectly still. Stoic. Unmoving.

But there was a dinging. A gravelly tinny Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.

And then I woke up. 615 alarm.

I missed my moment of being a hero. Yeah, it was a dream. But it would’ve been great. I would’ve been GREAT.

I say this now, though, frankly, I’m not so sure I would’ve been–great, that is.

I’ve not flown in forever and jets are a wholenother beast. A far cry from a single engine Cessna. But then again, cut the engine and the jet becomes a monstrous clunky sailplane.

And who knows what the Other Me or Other Farrah was about to do after the stare-down. And why on earth did no one else react. And why was the priority a doctor when clearly the plane was out of control.

The Other Me obviously assumed the pilot and co-pilot couldn’t be revived in time and took them out of the equation.

Fly the plane.

Fly the plane is Rule No 1. Don’t be distracted, whether it’s an emergency or not. Whether an engine light goes on or a bird strikes the canopy or you’ve lost communication.

Fly the plane.

In piloting, as with any act you perform: Be mindful of the essentials. And if and when the time comes for you to act, even if you’re unsure, don’t wait for someone else to do it.

Do it yourself.


Should I

January 16, 2015 — Leave a comment

Yeah. I’m down. I’m a sucker for challenges. Especially ones that push me toward something I’m trying to do anyhow, which is to write more consistently. It’s the YOUR TURN CHALLENGE, which is to post on your blog for seven days straight. And to share the post using #yourturnchallenge.

So what do I post about today?

I was trying to come up with a title for this post before settling on Should I. “My turn” was in the running. My turn piques my interest so I’ll give it a shot.

My turn to go.
My turn to play.
My turn to speak.
My turn to pee.
My turn to look.
My turn to hit.
My turn to pay.
My turn to stay.
My turn to…

My turn is tricky. It involves rhythm, timing. My turn also involves the act of waiting. Or interrupting. Knowing when to pause. Or to break in. Understanding the rules of the game. When it’s optimal to step in or stand by for that moment.

My turn can be stressful and awkward. It can be exciting and dreadful. It calls on you to act. And at times whether you want to or not.

There’s hope in there as well. When it’s my turn, I hope I this. I hope I can.

Goals. What’s the goal when it’s my turn. Results. Maybe. Sometimes it’s process. My turn to enjoy. My turn to have fun.

And then. It’s your turn.

And we play, work, engage like this.

My turn. Your turn. Together.


I’m back

January 7, 2015 — Leave a comment


Thanks for sticking with me during my blogging delinquency.


November 3, 2013 — 1 Comment

About a week ago, an irresistible creative outlet came into my life. NaNoWriMo. My JUST SAY NO List pleaded with me to ignore this NaNoWriMo and its tantalizing challenge. One month, this month, November 1 – 30, write a novel, 50,000 words. In the end, the desire to participate was too overwhelming. I succumbed.


I’ve made a career of being an acquisitions editor, coaxing (some have described it as gently bullying) my authors into developing stronger positions, urging them to push, reminding them to stay focused on that very slippery line: Is it worth the digression? And to make the deadline. Always.

Now’s it’s time for me to put up or shut up… practice what I’ve been preaching.

To put up (literally) I added a Word Counter widget to this blog to show you, my 13 followers, my progress. (Hopefully, I’ll never have to refer to it as my Slacker Meter.)

What do I preach? Start with what you love.

True Crime Science Fiction Fantasy Paranormal Flying Food. Young Adult? That’s a “We’ll see” since I like Erotica, too. These are genres I love. Okay. Well then.

Full throttle, Price of Wisdom. GO!