My Dream Scenario (PART 2)

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Tolkien couldn’t contain his amazement and he asked Miss Rice about her vampire characters. In calmness she answered his questioning and told him that most of her characters were metaphors for the outcast in all of us and this was rooted on the time when she was living as an atheist. Tolkien’s eyes were huge and his jaw dropped as he listened carefully to Miss Rice. Then the door of the Tavern burst opened and all of them turned to the direction of the door in haste.   

A man wearing glasses entered the room but the drunkards didn’t seem to notice his arrival. He looked like an easygoing person wearing a checkered polo shirt and a cargo short and a pair of flip flop. He was smiling to everyone even if everyone never returned his gesture. But he wasn’t bothered after all; instead he went straight to the bar and ordered a glass of beer. When he turned around to face the crowd and leaned his back to the bar, he saw the most unlikely group of extra ordinary people looking at him. They seemed like studying him, scrutinizing every aspect of his personality. With a glass of beer in his right hand, he sashayed to the huge table and greeted those remarkable people sitting there.

He said HI to everyone and extended his hand to shake theirs. He introduced himself as Rick Riordan. It wasn’t hard to like Rick because he was a charming man who could easily get along well regardless of personality differences. He invited himself and sat next to Tolkien. He told them that he was looking for Mount Olympus but the road led him here. Rowling asked him why he was looking for Olympus. Didn’t he know that Olympus was just a myth? He answered Rowling and told her that he was a writer and he was writing novels about Greek Mythology and lately he was combining Greek and Roman Mythology for his new Series. He thought he almost heard an Ohh’s and Ahh’s from the group and he could see it in their eyes that they were interested. Lewis told him that all of them were writers too and mostly they wrote about fiction novels with parallel world and outrageous cosmology.

Rick was excited to learn this and he said that it was a great honor to meet all of them in person. He told them that everyday was a learning process for him and his decision to quit his day job and focused on his writing was the best decision he ever did in his entire career.

“It’s just feels right” He said.  

And earned a nod of agreement from the group. “Writing feels write of course for writers, just like painting for painters.” Said Rowling.

“Well, as I always tell the aspiring writers who seek my advice, it is important to write the book that you want to read.” Miss Rice said.

“Indeed! Indeed!” Blurted Tolkien.

Rick told them that he was also writing book series about Egypt and he was already on his third book in that series.

Miss Rice looked at him enthralled. She loved Egypt and the long history behind it but she kept her silence and let Rick told his tale. When Rick was done talking, Miss Rice smiled and thought about the adventures she took when she wrote the novel Ramses and Queen of the Damned. That was Egypt for her, Akasha was Egypt for her.

Lewis called her name and asked her if she’s alright. Miss Rice nodded and assured Lewis that she was fine.

There was never a dull moment for fantasy writers got together. The Tavern was full with people and drunkards alike and the place was filled with laughter and cursing all around them but these fiction writers were having the time of their lives. It seemed that they were physically there but their conversation took them somewhere else, somewhere unimaginably awesome that no ordinary human being could follow. They’d talked about history like it happened yesterday, Gods and Goddesses as if they were tangible. Then there was the thrill when the conversation brought them to the topic of MAGIC as if it was real thing. The noise was never a problem for them.

Then the Tavern door swung opened. 

A bulky fat man stumbled from the door cursing. The rain was heavy outside and the fat man’s jacket was wet and his boots were soaked with mud. He was having difficulty getting out of his jacket and so a waiter approached him and offered some help but the fat man sent him away with foul words. The waiter just shook his head smiling, obviously he wasn’t offended by the man’s vulgarity and it seemed like he knew the man very well. Rick called for the waiter and asked him who the fat man was and the waiter told him with dignity and pride that the man was a regular customer of the Tavern and he was the famous writer name George R. R. Martin. Upon mentioning the name, Lewis turned his attention toward his friend Tolkien while Mr. Tolkien returned the gesture and gave Lewis a grim look.

“You didn’t recognize him?” Lewis asked him.

Tolkien shook his head slowly as if he was trying to remember the face of the man from the people he had met from his lifetime.

“I don’t remember meeting him before.” Tolkien finally said.

“He was that boy!” said Lewis.

Tolkien gave Lewis a strange look as if asking him what-he-was-talking-about. Lewis smile and shook his head in disbelief. Obviously his friend Mr. Tolkien didn’t know what was happening around him.

“Look” He said addressing Tolkien. “Haven’t you notice? Not everyone around here is from our time my friend. ”

“Huh?” Tolkien asked bewildered.

“Okay, We just came out from the School in which both of us are members of English Faculty and we came here for a drink and to discuss our works. Then later on, these wonderful people that we just met came out of nowhere.” Lewis addressed the remarkable people surrounding the table.

“So?” Tolkien asked still didn’t know where Lewis leading him.   

“They are not from our time. We,” pointing at Tolkien and himself, “Existed from their past and they belong to our future.” He smiled.

Tolkien looked at him and his attention went through each of the person on the table. Then he asked.

“What year is it in your present time?” He said.

“2013.” The group answered in unison.

“Wow!” He said.

“What year in yours?” Rick asked.

“1930?” Tolkien answered still couldn’t believe.

“We knew who you were gentlemen.” Said Ms. Rice to the both of them. “Both of you are heroes for writers in our time. The world worshiped you.” She said and smiled at them.

“You are two of the finest and most brilliant writers of the 20^th century.” Rowling added.

Tolkien looked at Lewis who was beginning to have teary eyes.

“All was worth it my friend.” He said as he tapped Lewis shoulder with a smile.

 “Well done gentlemen!” Ms. Rice said.

“So, who is this guy again?” Tolkien said breaking the emotion that was building. He was referring to the fat man who was now standing at the bar with his back on them.

“Well, He was that kid who wrote those fancy letters for you. Remember the letters you received every month at the faculty? That was him… your number one fan.” Lewis said.

“You mean our… number one fan?” Tolkien said with a huge grin in his face.

Tolkien stood up and smoothed his trouser and sashayed to the bar and stood beside the fat man who was wearing khaki, a polo shirt with a suspender on it. Rowling leaned forward on the table and watched them while everyone on the table did the same.

Seconds passed while the two men exchanged words on the bar and later on curses were flying all through out the Tavern from the fat man. But it wasn’t a curse of disappointment but instead it was from astonishment and surprise. Georgy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was amazed to know that he was standing in front of the person he aspired to become. Yes, he was the one who wrote those letters to Oxford addressed to Mr. Tolkien when he was a kid. But for him it was just an illusion to cheat him from the truth that Mr. Tolkien might not be able to read it. Never did he know that Mr. Tolkien did read his letters and he read it when he was still in his 30’s. Georgy was laughing feverishly and tears were streaming from his eyes, he was that kid again. Tolkien then wrapped his arms around Georgy’s neck and ushered him towards the table where everybody was waiting for them with a smile on their faces.

Tolkien introduced Georgy to all of them and when he came to Lewis, Georgy was overwhelmed that he finally burst into tears. He couldn’t contain his excitement any longer for what was happening in front of him was too good to be true. Lewis stood and extended his hand to welcome him but Georgy caught Lewis in a bear hug instead. The group erupted with laughter at this touching moment while the women secretly wiped the tears in their eyes.

It was indeed very touching, thought Rick. He couldn’t imagine it for Georgy, meeting his icons who somehow shaped his life or his career. Probably this was applicable to most of us humans; Rick continued musing while the outburst of emotion was still high. Somehow in our lives we met people that helped us realized our destiny, our dreams and those people, regardless if we knew them personally or through their works and passions, they become our icons, someone that we looked up to… We spent days dreaming what would it be like if we have their gift, it would have been marvelous. But they’d helped us do better, strived more and dreamed BIG.

Dreams are not just for sleeping… They do come true… you just have to believe in it and claim it on the stars.

The End

My Dream Scenario (PART 1)

I was thinking about my dream scenario, what would it be? Hmm Okay let’s see:

In a tavern, let say somewhere in a small village in England, CW Lewis and JRR Tolkien were having an afternoon chat. They occupied the biggest table at the center of the tavern where all the people could see them but the drunkards around them didn’t care. They went on talking about the parallel world that they created in their novels. While Tolkien bragged about Middle-Earth and how the brilliant idea formulated in his mind, Lewis in other hand nodded in agreement and congratulated him. Then he went on and shared about the world of Narnia and asked Tolkien if creating a character name Aslan was cool. Tolkien said that the idea was great and he could create Aslan as a huge talking beast. Lewis agreed and said that it would be interesting if instead of having an untamed animal he would settle having a prudent Lion that was wise and gentle in which Tolkien happily approved.

Later on a smart looking woman with a blonde hair appeared from the door, she was wearing a black suit and Manolo Blahnik killer high heels. The two men looked at her and invited her in. She introduced her self as JK Rowling and told them that she was strolling around Hogsmeade and she ended up in the Tavern. But they didn’t know where Hogsmeade was located and so she explained to them that Hogsmeade was a place she created in her Harry Potter Series. Tolkien and Lewis were fascinated and they urged her to talk about it for awhile, Lewis even asked Rowling some questions about witchcraft and wizardry because he was thinking about creating a witch villain that he wanted to call The White Queen. Rowling ordered a drink but since it was a Tavern and most of the people who came here - with only have one thing in their mind and that was to get drunk, there was no way they served ladies drink, so she asked for wine instead. When the wine arrived, Rowling took a small sip to have a taste of it, the wine was delicious and she was satisfied. She smiled with her eyes closed savoring the wine on her taste bud. When she opened her eyes, she saw a petite older looking woman entered the Tavern, wearing a black ensemble, closed neck dress with a cameo pinned at the center of the dress right on the breast area. The woman was probably in her seventies with her shoulder length grayed hair and feline grace as she walked toward the group. The three of them looked at her and noticed how commanding she was despite of her age. The entire room went silent as if the time stopped as she moved to the table but then the drunkards were mindless people and they went on with their businesses and the tavern hovered with the same chattering again. The woman stood next to the table and looked each of the three faces who were sitting around it. Rowling looked at her musing, the old woman made her thought about a timeless character in a dark novel. Rowling was awed.

The old woman looked at her and met her eyes, she smiled at Rowling and her eyes gleamed with the wisdom that she carried within her, as if the old woman lived for thousands of years that nothing in this corporeal world would shock her. Her eyes flamed with the Lighthouse of Ancient Egypt, her movement was graceful like the aristocrats of old Rome and the lines in her face showed the knowledge she probably acquired since the fall of Jerusalem. As if, she was there at the very meadow, sitting among the Jews, listening to the son of God Yeshua when he told his teaching.

Then the old woman cleared her throat and introduced herself. She said her name was Anne Rice and that she was also a novelist who wrote fiction and fantasy novels about vampires and werewolves and witches. Tolkien and Lewis beamed with excitement and asked her to join them and she did. She sat beside Rowling and while Tolkien lifted his hand to call for a waiter to take Miss Rice’s order, Rowling took the liberty to introduce everyone on the table. A bald man with a big tummy approached and took Miss Rice’s order and she told him that she have what Miss Rowling was having. The waiter bow his head and left.

Rowling said that she knew her; she went on and told Tolkien and Lewis that Miss Rice loved to write about dark characters from the myths and legends of the old and that she had a natural gift in descriptive writing that whatever she was writing about, regardless if its from the ancient time or the present, her skills would bring those times to life in the pages of her book. It had a powerful effect for readers; Rowling went on, “transcending effect” she said. Miss Rice bow her head in humility with Rowling’s praising her and gave the younger woman her most sincere gratitude.

To be continue.... 

EVERYBODY STARTS SOMEWHERE - FOR ME, IT ALL STARTED WITH ANNE RICE

I was young when I first realized my love for reading, but it wasn’t until 6th grade that I discovered the joy of novels. I remember dragging my mother to National Bookstore to buy me a copy of Sweet Valley High.

Yes, I’m not embarrassed by it! It was the first book series I ever owned, though sadly, my time with it was short-lived. Once the characters went off to college, I found myself no longer interested in their stories.

In high school, I left my province to study in the Metro and stayed with my uncle in Sta. Rosa, Laguna. My new school was located in a subdivision, and while it was a good school—one where I made some of my best friends—it had a library that didn’t quite meet my expectations. Sure, it had encyclopedias, but most of the books on the shelves were for children, and I longed for novels—stories that could take me away from reality, even if just for a while.

When I moved to college, I enrolled at a large university in Mindanao, flying back to my province and settling in a city near my hometown. Every weekend, I took a three-hour bus ride home to Valencia, Bukidnon. The winding highways, the ranches, and the pineapple plantations reminded me of how it felt to immerse myself in a good novel—like being lost in a dream.

College was a time of rebellion, the most crucial years of my life, full of arguments about everything. I remember sitting on one of the benches outside the chapel with friends, debating the existence of God, life, sexuality—nothing was off-limits.

I lived in a boarding house along Capistrano Street, and one of my roommates, after our late-night conversations, introduced me to Anne Rice. She said that Rice’s books covered many of the topics I was passionate about. She was older, so I imagined she’d read more widely than I had. The next day, she left a book on my table with a note on a yellow post-it:

“Prepare to Dream! Enjoy!”

I chuckled at the irony of the note and eagerly picked up the book—The Queen of the Damned by Anne Rice. For the first time in years, I felt a tingle of excitement holding this book. I knew I was about to embark on a great adventure, so I grabbed my coin purse, tucked the book under my arm, and headed out to the nearest coffee shop.

The afternoon was quiet, as it often is in towns outside the Metro. Even though Cagayan de Oro had long been a city, it still carried the charm of provincial life. The people’s gentleness, the air that hummed with freshness from the mountains of Bukidnon or the ocean on the other side—it all felt timeless.

I hopped into a tricycle, which took me to the coffee shop. I ordered tea and found a corner table near the window with a comfortable couch. I sank into the couch and let myself settle in while my eyes scanned the room. It was still the pre-social media days, so most of the people were unfamiliar faces.

“I’m really in for a treat,” I thought to myself.

The first few pages of The Queen of the Damned immediately hooked me. Anne Rice’s writing was exactly what I had been searching for. Her words belonged to the era of the story, creating a world that felt as real as the one I was escaping from. It was the kind of writing that made me forget everything else and even the present moment. For the first time in a long while, reading felt like dreaming.

Time flies when you’re lost in a good book, especially one about immortal characters. It was dark by the time I decided to head home. I hadn’t finished the book in one sitting, but I considered that a good thing—it meant I could live in that world a little longer. For weeks, I was obsessed with Anne Rice. I read everything I could about her and visited the local library, dreaming that one day I would own all of her books. I wanted a shelf filled with her works.

Ten years later, I have that shelf, in a small room I rented in the Metro. I follow Anne Rice on Facebook, and every time I see her work, I still feel the same excitement I did when I first read her books. Her magic never fades for me, and I will always be a devoted fan.

Looking back at my Goodreads list, it’s hard to believe how many books I’ve read since then. Now, I’m working on writing my own novel.

I have to say, Anne Rice is the reason I wanted to become a writer. While I may never be able to write as well as she did, she is my inspiration. Before I write, I always revisit a few chapters of her work to fuel my imagination and open my creative mind. I’ve finished my novel, and now I’m on the journey of finding an agent to represent my manuscript. Rejections have come, as they always do, and even though I try to remind myself that every successful author was once rejected, it still stings.

But giving up is not an option. I can’t help but wonder—what would Marius, the ancient vampire, say if I gave up on this dream? I don’t want to disappoint those timeless figures.

Xoxo