Story Idea

This blurb of words is meant to make me think, more so than you, putting it on the site though gives a moment of letting it go. Which, as a writer, is something that is always good. So lets let this sit for a minute and come back when the thought is a bit more clear.

When people dream, what if our dreams were reality. And our reality was just our dreams from our actual reality. A story that captures the essence of consciousness and thought while taking into account the inherent disability that sleep provides us is something I want to explore. Here’s the first couple paragraphs.

I just want to fall asleep sometimes.

Sinatra just floating through the room as if the room was cold and dark and the only light was the sound that echoed from the record player. 

There's a skylight above my bed that captures the moon just as it dips away into sunrise. Sometimes it shines so bright the only thing I can do is dream about sleeping. I dream that the world would be captured in a moment. That the world would stand still while I danced around my room with no care for anything but the idea of someone else. The idea that has never come true and the idea that I hope will. 

I switch the record every now and then from Moonlight Sinatra to something from Elvis. Not because I really enjoy listening to Elvis but because of the dream he evokes. It isn’t always a pretty dream, or one that I want to replay over and over. But the thought of playing music as beautifully and captured as Elvis feels right. 

Whenever the moon shines in through the skylight I always put on a jacket. It’s not because it’s cold in my room but rather because I feel a deep sense of comfort whenever I’m hugged. Whenever something is wrapped around my body I feel safe. I wish the jacket wasn’t a jacket but at this point it’s what I have. The music floats through the air, giving off the feeling of the Jazz age that seems to be immortalized in fiction writing throughout our lives today. From F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda to Ernest Hemingway and beyond. The magical mystery that comes from the 1920s, the time of dancing and art in its simplest form, word, being given the license to travel and live a thousand lives in one. Hemingway was admired because of how clear and concise he was. It seems like Fitzgerald was admired because of how real and how much of a realist he was in comparison to the things he wrote. Almost as if he was a character in every novel he wrote. Something that seems to play out in the greatest stories we witness. The jazz age. It’s even got a nice ring to it. 

I want the jazz age to come back. I want to fall asleep on a stairwell in Paris after a day of rain and writing and painting with the greatest jazz musicians playing throughout the city. I know it’s too idealized but that's the magic i search for. I want the life I live to be something that isn’t real. Something that only happens once I fall asleep. That’s why I just want to fall asleep sometimes.