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An Excerpt from my WIP

Hey y’all,

Long time no updates. So, while I’m still working on GP, I’m also working on a few other projects – a chapbook and an unnamed novel as well as a novel I’m tentatively calling, “The Machine that is Me: Static Dreams”.

I thought some of you might be interested in seeing an excerpt from it while I continue to work on my other projects.

I need to see you. It’s urgent. The words shimmer before dissolving into an array of scintillating pixels and vanish from my screen. As I yank my starched lab coat off and tug my scuffed-up leather jacket on, my thoughts splinter between the contents of the message and its sender, my best friend, Nahia Winters.

Meet at my place? I text back, scrunching up my eyebrows.

As the laboratory doors slide open, the chatter of my colleagues escalates, echoing against the linoleum. Most of them are headed to a downtown zone-out café. Some hipster joint with the hottest headsets, most up-to-date Dream technology, and most recently uploaded dreams.

After a fourteen-hour stint at the lab, I don’t blame them, but the word “urgent” buzzes through my veins like a stimulant. It makes the concept of rest impossible. Anyway, Nahia’s a Tier-1A Dreamer. Worst case scenario, she can lend me a headset and upload a dream for me.

“You coming, Simon?” Jonathan calls, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I wave him on, flashing him a small but genuine smile. “Got some personal stuff I’m dealing with,” I admit, “but thanks, anyway, bro.”

He nods. “Sure thing.”

I watch as he catches up to the rest of the group, grateful he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.

A ping as Nahia reply comes through. I’m already there. Our texts glimmer: individual letters become dancing dots, then disappear before sending me back to my home screen. All evidence of our exchange disintegrates rapidly. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shake my head in disbelief. “How does she have access to my phone?” I mutter, rolling my eyes. She’s the Dreamer, and I’m the scientist, and I can’t operate basic tech like she does.

Shit. It occurs to me. Nahia might be in trouble. I sprint out of the sterile space and hurry to the Aeroline station. Once I am at the station, I gnaw on my lower lip, contemplating how to ask Nahia if she’s in trouble without rousing suspicion of the monitors.

I loathe the monitors. They’re the ones who capture the outspoken ones.

I’m certain they’ll capture everyone who speaks out against the Regime one of these days – the way they surveil our phones and emails and now, how they check the Dreamers’ dream content for any signs of unrest or revolutionary thought.

Focus, Simon, I remind myself as I slide into the seat and flash my pass at the scanner. My heart begins to hammer in my chest as it dawns on me that Nahia’s probably already in trouble with the monitors if she’s showing up at my apartment during peak Dreamer hours. So, as we begin our ascent through the clouds, I start scheming.

Interested in reading more? Let me know! I’m always looking for more readers.

Isabelle Palerma

Dream

As you may or may not know, one novel I am currently revising is about a young woman whose dreams begin to interfere with reality, and another WIP (work-in-progress) is about a dystopian future where sleep is outlawed.

Here’s a dream I had a while ago. At the time, I thought it was more like a vision than a dream, and I had a professional dream interpreter interpret it for me. I thought some of you might be interested in reading the interpretation.

Life was a whirlwind: people deserting me, families I used to work with shaming me, friends leaving and spreading false rumors, etc. My family was angry with me because I owed them money.

Interpretation: This represents my anxiety, what I am feeling presently.

Everywhere I turned, people were mad. This part was semi-lucid because I kept thinking, “I’m in bed. I’m going to remember this and write it down. I’m going to learn from this. I’m in bed. I can feel the night breeze.”

I ran up the stairs through a class in a lecture hall.

Interpretation: The upward path I was on represents success.

At the top of the staircase, there was a figure I could not see. He apologized for putting me through trials. I told him that I nearly died. I told him that people rejected me and hurt me in many ways.

I told him that he was responsible for things being messed up.

Interpretation: This figure represents a scapegoat, a person who takes the blame for the uncertainty I have in letting others down.

The lecture hall represents the feeling of being “lectured” about morality.

Furthermore, my explanation to this figure about nearly dying and people rejecting me represents that I cannot handle the rejection he is placing on me.

This figure represents a lesson I must learn.

The figure smiled, emanating a powerful, white glow. It was so luminous that I could not see beyond him. I ran through the light and entered a cafeteria.

A girl I knew when I was younger stood in the doorway. She was a friend who later became an adversary. I told her what I told the unseen figure, “I withstood all my trials and found that I am my own hero. I did it all on my own, and I’m still standing. I discovered I can do it on my own.”

Interpretation: The cafeteria represents a place of nourishment and nurturing. I am trying to please this person who stands in the doorway, Judgment. She does not represent Good nor Bad. She is my Experiences. Because of her, I have taught myself to be cautious.

She tells me though I can do it on my own, I don’t have to, then hands me a stone.

She tells me I must polish the stone. She did not give me any further instructions on how to polish the stone, simply that I must polish it.

Interpretation: Her lesson is twofold. She is both advising me and giving me permission to reach out to others. Though she has failed me in the past, others will not necessarily follow suit.

The stone represents Truth. How does one polish a stone? By tumbling it and removing the dirt.

What remains is Truth.

She told me that I will know when my task is done. She told me, “You will know your destiny after you polish the stone.” She also told me, “You saved him from his own noose.”

I held the rock as she faded from sight. As she faded, I heard her say, “Put it under your tongue.”

Interpretation: I saved him by telling him he needed to heal himself. Holding the rock represents me holding my truth. She is telling me to keep my truth a secret.

I saw a beautiful man like no one I had ever seen before. He emanated a radiance, and I felt my heart swell.

“Not this one,” a voice said.

I kept walking and arrived at a staircase that sloped and curved beyond my line of vision.

I walked down the stairs to arrive at a landing. From the landing I could see, the stairs led to a hallway with a door.

I began to choke on the rock under my tongue. I nearly swallowed the stone (the Truth) that I held in my mouth.

Interpretation: The voice is that of Judgment. She has returned to warn me that the first man was not the right man. The sloping staircase represents an unclear path. It could lead to a great success or a terrible downfall. The hall leading to a door represents the unknown as well. The door could be an escape out or a prison within. I do not enter the doorway, so, whether it is an escape or a prison is unknown.

As the stone tumbled around my mouth, a man with dove-white skin, dimples, and an amazing jawline ran up the stairs to meet me. He watched me gag on the stone, wanting to assist me but unable to help.

I finally coughed and choked up the stone (the Truth). It had tumbled into a glimmering tiger’s eye. The man too transformed but became harder to see. He was still beautiful, just harder to see.

Interpretation: I walked down to meet him, yet he walked up to meet me, but we still met in the middle. By walking down to meet him, this represents I must lose something to meet him.

He held in his hands a noose, and around his neck, he wore a placard that said his name.

The voice said, “He is the one.”

Interpretation: He has removed the noose (a leash), and by doing so, the man is finally free. Judgment has again presented itself to say he is the one, but something has changed. He is free, and of his free accord, he ran up the stairs to meet me and underwent his own transformation.

The dream is saying I must hold my truth until it is polished and clean. When the time is right, I must choose between speaking it-freeing it from my mouth-or swallowing it.

Isabelle Palerma

News about my Chapbook & Novel!

Hey there!

It’s been a while since I’ve updated, but if you follow me on social media, (which I highly recommend you do) you’ll know that my chapbook is almost complete! We have a title, my publisher and editors have polished it, and I just have my final checks to do before we take it to print. That being said, we’re doing some pretty unusual and cool things with its formatting that I think you all will be excited to see once it’s in print. I’m so excited to share this labor of love with all of you.

Speaking of labors of love, I’m currently going over the first round of edits for Catching Dreams that my publisher has sent over before sending it to the publisher. The first round of edits involves tightening up the prose, tidying up some redundancies, and just overall polishing it up. From there, it will go to the publisher’s editors, go through more editing, and then, hopefully, we’ll start drafting up a cover and it will – fingers crossed – hit the bookshelves in 2025!

I am so excited to share with you the progress of my journey. Also, while I have been away from my website, two of my poems were published in a local literary magazine called Perspectives. If you are interested in receiving a copy, please let me know and I can send you an autographed copy.

That’s all for now, but be sure to keep checking my website for more updates!

Isabelle Palerma

Poet Spotlight on: Carlene Gist

The last poet in my poetry spotlight is Carlene Gist or “T.C.” Not to make Carlene self-conscious, but she is the oldest poet I interviewed in this series and has a broad range of experience. Named after her father, Carlene is the first born of seven children and was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan.

In her own words, this poet says, “Poetry is a genre of writing that I’ve always admired. While in the first grade, I committed to memory and recited “The Night Before Christmas”, for the Christmas play. I’ve been writing but mostly reading poetry since then. Acting, singing and dancing are a few of my favorite things. I went from beating on tabletops to beating on the djembe, which is something I do to center myself. I hope one day to be a published poet.”

You have witnessed several historical events throughout your years as both a person and a poet. Do you find that current events shape your writing, and if so, how? What kind of events propel you to write poetry?

Being born in the late ’40s, I’ve seen a lot. Current events most definitely influence my sentiments when expressing myself through the written word. Poetry, to me, is one way of expressing one’s feelings and perspectives. I can find poetry in almost anything if I but just be still and observe. I find myself stirred by events that display man’s inhumanity to man on any level.

How has your writing changed over the years?

I used to write only poems that rhymed and a lot of love poems. I now write in free verse and about a variety of subjects. I also like writing haiku.

What influence does being a spoken-word poet play on the way you craft your poems?

I know that poetry, as all forms of art, is subjective. I do give effort in trying to find the most effective words and weave them in a manner that might help the audience receive the sentiment I am aiming to convey.

What poet, living or dead, would you like to meet and have dinner with? What would you serve your special guest?

Edgar A. Poe; Kahlil Gibran; Henry W. Longfellow; Paul L. Dunbar; Langston Hughes; Maya Angelou, to name a few. I would have said my peer, Nikki Giovanni. After hearing Amanda Gorman recite her poem “The Hill We Climb”, I would love to sit, chat, and break bread with her. I’m interested in what the younger generation has to say. I believe pizza might work.

What are your favorite aspects of your own poetry?

I like the way I’ve been able to provoke one to think about what I’m trying to convey.

When do you usually write your poetry?

Usually at the midnight hours-between midnight and three a.m.

What do you do when you experience writer’s block?

It’s really tough for me to start a flow when I’m experiencing writer’s block. Prompts, music, or just write what flows through me and edit later.

It

Written before the new time of 9 min. and 29 sec.

“It” looks into the camera. I watch
Knee on neck, hands tucked comfortably in pockets
Some might say cavalier, I say eviler
A cold and icy stare.
My eyes feel frostbitten, they hurt. I sense danger.
Like an ostrich who buries their eggs in the sand
Like an ostrich who senses danger and can’t run.
I bury my head in my hands. I feel not better but safer
Can I fear what I can’t see?
Under the covers a child will hide for fear of the boogeyman
Two minutes pass, spread my fingers and peek.
My heart races, as pressure rises. “It” is still there, knee on neck
hands comfortably in pockets. Under my covers I retreat.
Bury my head in my hands a little longer this time.
Hoping this time “it” will surely be gone. Three more minutes pass
and “it’s” not gone yet. Still there, icy stare, knee on neck, hands tucked comfortably in pockets. Hugging my pillow tight, I start sweating and crying.
A fearful child becomes so scared it will call for their mother.
They trust and believe Mother, the person who witnessed them take their first breath is able, and will save them from taking their last if she can.
Sounds of voices unfamiliar to me, I decide to peek and see.
I’m petrified I can’t breath, “it” won’t leave. Why must “it” torture me so long?
Three minutes seems like three hours I’ve waited for “it” to cease.
Eight minutes now, seems like eight days of holding my breath , suffocating under my covers.
They say fear leads to hate and hate to destruction
Forty-six seconds later “it” is still there but George Floyd is not.
Mother came to get him.
I slowly lift my head out of my hands and start to breathe again.
-Carlene Gist

Isabelle Palerma

Poet Spotlight on: Dlvan Zirak

For Global Poetry Writing Month, I have decided to feature poets from around the world that I know. These are talented individuals who impress me with their skills. They write incredible poetry and are beautiful human beings.

For this first weekend of April, I have chosen to interview Kurdish poet, Dlvan Zirak. Dlvan is twenty-six-years-old and has written three poetry books 5 A.M. Thoughts, its Kurdish translation, and Jar of Memories.

Dlvan writes about a variety of topics, but one, in particular, caught my attention. She talks about mental health, a topic which is still highly stigmatized. This poet wishes to eradicate the stigmatization of openly discussing mental illness and does this by addressing it in her poetry.

Dlvan, you write so honestly and so articulately about mental illness. Do you or anyone you know have a mental illness? If so, what kind of affect does that have on your writing?

I’m a hypersensitive person and I feel too much. Simple things can affect me more than they affect others. Since writing is my escape, I write what I feel and I make sure that my thoughts are expressed as I want to. So, for example, I face a difficult day at work, I write about it with heavy emotions because this way I feel better. Also, with everything that happened in 2020, I was so overwhelmed. I had never felt like this before, and this helped me see things from a different perspective. I try to show these in my writings.

I have found my upbringing colors a lot of my writing and the way I utilize metaphors and similes. How do you feel your childhood and/or culture impact your writing style?

Even as a kid, I dreamed about doing different things when I grew up. Living in the Middle East can be challenging. So from my writings and my books, I want to show the youth that it doesn’t matter where we live, we can dream big and work hard to make our dreams come true. I also want to show my readers that they are not alone when they are going through different emotions in life and to empower the next generation.

What do you find easiest to write about? What is the most challenging?

The easiest thing to write is about emotions. It comes to me so easily, whether it’s something that I feel, someone talks about their experiences, or the things that I notice around me. As for challenging, I think writing stories. Working on an idea, making up scenarios, making sure there aren’t plot holes.

Do you have an ideal space to write your poetry? If you could imagine the best place to write poetry, what would it look like?

I don’t plan to write my poems. They just come to me and I grab my phone before the idea runs away and I write it in my Notes app. The best place would be among trees and mountains. Where you can hear water and animals are far away and birds fly in different directions. To me, there is nothing more beautiful than nature and it makes me so relaxed.

Where can readers find more of your writing?

They can find me with the following links:

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dlvanzirak/?hl=en

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/A.JarOfMemories/

Website:

https://dlvanzirak.com/

Goodreads:

http://bit.ly/dlvan_goodreads

YouTube:

http://bit.ly/dlvan_yt

Twitter:

http://bit.ly/dlvan_twitter

I will never be the same.
Even if I never get to feel
All the horrible things I feel now,
I will never be how I used to be.
I may become the happiest person
That has roamed this earth.
But at night, when the world is quiet,
When you can hear your own breath,
I’ll remember the faces I saw.
I will be able to identify their pain.
I will remember the hurt I was in.
And even though I will be happy then,
I know that not everyone else is.
And this, man, this will sting.
It will feel like a heartbreak in a circle.
Even when I don’t remember the hurt,
When no sadness is left in me,
I will know others suffer,
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
For this, I shall never find peace.

-Dlvan Zirak