Oceans of Ideas


I’ve got a brand-new little flash fiction story to share with you in this issue.

It’s called “The dream which fell into the ocean”, and I wrote it especially for this newsletter. I had actually planned on sharing some of my older writing pieces for the first few issues, so it was a nice surprise to find words flowing, and I took full advantage.

I’m including a shout-out to the talented artist of the original paintings in the accompanying illustration to the story: Rambha Dobson (my mum💕), who kindly provided permission to use her works. Merci Maman 🙏💗

It’s funny to map the genesis of ideas and how creativity unfolds. For “The dream which feel into the ocean”, it started with me staring dreamily at my mum’s original paintings. They inspired a tiny piece of micro-fiction, which I tweeted. I then developed the tweet into the story you can read below. Then, as I thought about how to illustrate it, I hit on the approach of digitally combining my mum’s paintings. They were the original inspiration, after all! And so, I came full circle.

I hope you find your synergies and energies in your creative journeys, and I hope you find the stories, ideas and links in this issue inspiring in some way.


Writing & Creativity Cool Finds

Something I created

The dream which fell into the ocean

Original artwork by Rambha Dobson. Used with permission.

One night, the dream wasn’t being called to by anyone. It was alone as it sat on the edge of its cloud and swung its legs idly backwards and forwards into the night sky.

And then, it happened.

The dream wasn’t sure how. One moment it was on its cloud, the next moment, something shifted – a breeze, a breath – and then the dream was falling, falling, falling down towards the night ocean below.

It landed without a splash.

It lay there for a moment, bobbing in the calm water as it found its breath. The world was all ocean down here. Waves and ceaseless movement and wet and salt tangs and cool air and a symphony of sounds stretching all the way back up to the night sky. So very different to the clouds of wide winds and whisper-soft silences.

The dream stood up.

The ocean surface was uneven and wobbling. The dream found a precarious balance and began walking. Careful steps across the silken, dancing surface.

It walked for a long time. It walked with the tide, across the waves, under star and blue and star and blue skies, often in silence, and sometimes humming to the seaweed, the fish and merfolk and water sprites that it met.

With every step the dream took, it left behind dream-footprints to slowly surrender beneath the waves. With every step, the dream changed. It coloured itself differently. With the way light pauses in water, with ocean songs, and with the endlessness of night. It learnt to slip and spin. It learnt how to run fast and strong, with fury and with gentleness.

One day, waves carried the dream on to a wide shore with coarse and smooth sand, with living shells and empty, broken and discarded ones, and living and lost seaweed. The dream sat down at the very edge of the ocean, and felt the unusual sensation of having solid sand swirling and slipping and washing under its feet. It had been used to only ocean for so long now.

The dream lay down in the tiny waves of lagoon water, stared up at the blue sky and billowing clouds and sun, and it rested and waited.

And that was where you found it.

A Book or Piece of Art I Love

Panel extract from multi-panel cartoon by Grant Snider

You see, I found and cut out this illustrated panel a long time ago. Maybe 15 years, probably more. It lives at my work desk and has travelled with me across multiple work desks and across hundreds of miles. It’s still pinned above my work desk at the day job today.

The impossibility of perspective which plays between 2D and 3D realities as the character sleeps on a flat-looking-but-should-be-upright tree trunk, the romance, solitude and dreaminess of star-gazing and deserts, and the importance of providing yourself with soul food.

I love Snider’s illustrations. He has done many pithy and wise and hopeful – and just plain beautiful – illustrations about experiences of writing, drawing, reading, daydreaming and being-in-the-moment. They always strike a chord and they always make me smile.

But I’ll confess that I prefer the Grant Snider cartoon. Probably because I found it first? And because I love everything about the homage, including the additions. But as a result of learning this connection, I’ve become a lot more attuned and aware of O’Keeffe’s incredibly imaginative art works.

Randomly Interesting Wandersome Shares

Thank you

Du fond du coeur, thanks for reading x

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