Writing in the Cloud

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Friday, February 5, 2010
12:11 PM


Writing in the Cloud

A few days ago I went online to find the source of the expression "writing in the cloud." In the process, I came upon an engaging web page produced by a young woman named Beata Martins.

Beata appears to be a teacher of English as a Second Language. Hey, I used to be a teacher of ESL!

Beata recently cut back her hours of gainful employment so that she can spend more time “writing in the cloud,” that is, develop her writing by posting to her blog and other virtual places short of actually publishing in the traditional manner. (She’s not a hundred percent sure of her talent.)

Wasn't that at least one rationale for my cutting back my hours years ago?

While sitting at the front of her classroom supervising university entrance examinations, Beata sometimes does creative writing exercises. So did I. Her results (“500 Wrong Words”) may be happier than mine...but let me not pick up on every opportunity to sell myself short!

I appreciated a dream Beata shared. She had it just after deciding to teach less, write more.

In this dream, her husband wakes her earlier than usual to share a discovery. He puts his finger to his lips as he moves to the wall and draws aside drapery. Lo, there is a window neither of them previously knew existed. Nothing spooky. The new window opens onto the same garden the two already know and love.

That was enough to move me to write Beata. I told her she was lucky in her husband, and, by the by, gave her the story of my life and hard times.

She replied too.

This experience got me back to working in “the cloud.” I started posting to my blog again after a seven month absence.

It also got me thinking about dreams some more.

As it happened, Eugene Gendlin's Let Your Body Interpret Your Dreams came from the library again a day later. I had read it a couple of years ago. This time around, I find I am ready to identify with Gendlin’s characters as parts of myself, piggybacking on their therapy shamelessly. I agonize with them as they move forward—or try to.

So now I’m driving the freeways of Los Angeles with a young high speed courier named James. James came out to California a year ago in the hopes of becoming a star, but so far he hasn’t been able to line up as much as a single audition. Being a high speed courier isn’t just poorly paid, it’s damned stressful. When, if ever, will it be time for James to give up and go back to Kansas?

(The original dream is discussed the book by Gendlin as “Mark’s Dream,” pages 62-68.)