Wormhole 276 Reading

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Want to hear a scene from one of my screenplays? I was fortunate enough to win a reading, so go ahead, have a listen.

Here’s the setup.

In a space city more than a thousand years in the future, Marvi and Jacot are left with their grandparents while their parents are out of the galaxy. The grandparents, Tink and Tank, are both successful scientists. The sister and brother have been cautioned to stay out of the labs because of danger. Jacot, who gets bored easily, decides to explore.

FAMILY BEST SCENE Screenplay – WORMHOLE 276, by Veronica R Tabares



A snowy surprise

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I looked outside this morning and SURPRISE!
I had no idea I’d wake up to this. I had plans. Plans that didn’t include snowy roads.
Okay, so the flakes falling from the sky are beautiful, huge, and oh-so-fluffy. Each one is a work of art.
But all that artwork destroys my plans.
Just yesterday I was chatting with a cashier at the grocery store and we both agreed we were ready for spring.
This does not look like spring.

Spencer 1928 excerpt

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Officer Daniels holds tight to the counter as he maneuvers around it, then staggers to the bench and plops down beside Emma. As he talks his face takes on a greenish hue, as if he is suddenly aware that his lunch no longer agrees with him.

Emma listens, her chin firm. Though a close observer might notice slight quivers that break through her iron will.

Officer Daniels raises a shaky hand toward the door. Emma stares at the hand momentarily, then nods. Emma stands slowly, throws back her shoulders, and marches out.

Officer Daniels wipes sweat from his brow as he staggers back to his high stool. He checks that no one is watching before he rests his head on the counter.

*   *  *

This is an excerpt of a screenplay I’ve just begun. I’ve had the story plotted out since I first wrote the Behold the Eye trilogy oh-so-many years ago. It’s kinda funny it’s taken me this long to get to it.

Even though this is built on the same premise (dream traveling), it’s from a different time and place with new characters.

Complacency and the form letter

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Protests. Hate. Violence. Distrust. Division.

Such is our world, especially when it comes to politics.

It’s nasty out there. Barbed insults aimed at the heart, cries of ‘Give No Mercy’, and a complete lack of concern about unintended casualties. All those normal, everyday people who gave a friendly smile and wave last year would now rather hit someone over the head with a sign.


I would fear that the world has gone totally bonkers and is doomed, except I read a lot. History most certainly repeats itself. What is happening today is not new, not unique, and also not necessary.

Complacency is the problem. People snuggle into their convictions and get comfortable. They wrap those beliefs around them like a warm blanket on an icy day, and woe to anyone who dares to tug on that blanket.

I, too, have well-loved beliefs. But I try to keep an open mind, so I recently reached across the aisle to contact my congresswoman.

I didn’t ask for much, but I got even less than expected. My outstretched hand was slapped away, and I was sent a form letter that showed that my communication had probably not even been read.

You’d think an elected official would make the effort to unwrap, just a little.

Confessions of a perfume hater

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Yep, that’s me.

Whether it’s in shampoo, clothes detergent, air freshener, or spritzed on after a shower, it’s all the same to me. No matter if it’s called perfume, scent, cologne, or fragrance, I hate the poisonous stuff.

If you wear it and get behind me in line in the store, I’ll inch away. If you’re wearing a lot I’ll probably even cover my nose.

Wear it while you introduce yourself at a party and I’ll quickly find a way to make myself scarce. Maybe I’ll see a good friend walking in the door, or I’ll claim that I absolutely have to get something to eat, even though I have a plate full of food in my hand.

You call it rudeness, but I call it self preservation.

Because the first whiff of the nasty stuff makes my airways stiffen and tighten. With continued exposure my brain stops working and dizziness sets in. If I can’t get to fresh air, breathing gets harder and harder, until the loss of consciousness becomes a very real threat.

And lets be clear about this, the effects last for weeks after an exposure. Weeks!

Now isn’t that pleasant!


The Writing Zone

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I have about as much interest in writing today as my dog has in going out to find new fleas.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to write. There are few places better in the world than The Writing Zone. I try to spend as much time there as possible. It’s my Happy Place.

But getting into The Writing Zone can be pure torture. Especially since it has a roadblock the size of Mount Rainier and guards. Not normal guards either. These are mean, crotchety, and excessively hateful. They don’t take breaks, but they do take great pleasure in keeping me out of The Zone.

I’m persistent, so I usually manage to get past the beasts. Sometimes I tiptoe past, and other times I borrow a steamroller and plow my way through. It depends on my mood.

But I long for the Easy Entry Days when I skip right past the barricade and frolic for hours in blissful writing.

There’s nothing like being in the zone of getting into The Zone.

New year, new beginning

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This year is gonna be GOOD!

A new family member, a new book, and many new adventures.

Last year was a rather icky year, for me at least. For the first time EVER, I was scammed out of money. Not something I want to admit, but there it is.

It all started because my book sales were steady, but on the low side. As much as I believed in the books, I simply didn’t know how to get them noticed. So I decided to hire a marketer. Someone who knew how to place the books in the public eye.  Make them more visible, easier to discover.

Me being me, I took several months to research marketing companies. The expensive ones were knocked out right away. I knew I would need to spend money, but my budget was rather limited. So I finally settled on a mid-range priced company that ‘guaranteed satisfaction or your money back’.

In March, after several email exchanges and a couple of phone calls, I signed up and paid for six months of marketing. I was told that the first thing I needed to do was move my website from Blogger to Word Press, because Blogger would not be able to handle the traffic.

So I moved my site. It took about a month and was much messier than I thought it would be. I did not enjoy it and the immediate result was that the number of hits to my site plummeted. Dramatically.

As did my sales. All of a sudden no one was buying my books.

I contacted the marketer and was assured the drop in sales was temporary. She had set up a campaign that would put my books in front of the very people who were sure to be interested in them. But the timing was not yet right. The campaign couldn’t start until September.

I checked in with her several times over the summer and was assured everything was good to go.

In September I sent an email asking if I needed to do anything else. I got no response. I waited a week and sent another email. Still nothing. A week later I sent a third one, and this one came back undeliverable.

So I went to the website. It was gone. Over the next two months I must have looked for the website a hundred times and sent numerous emails.

The company had closed up shop and vanished. It was gone, and so was my money.

Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Right.

Icky. Very icky.

Time to shake it off and move on. New year, new beginning.

I plan to do everything I can to make it a fantastic one! Which includes letting go of past mistakes so I can focus on the future.

Forward! Ever forward!


The house dream returns

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I had the house dream last night.

I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. I dream of finding a hidden door in a house that leads to all kinds of interesting things. No two dreams are the same.

When I was a child I usually dreamed of my grandmother’s house. I’d be playing hide-and-seek with my sister and stumble across a cabinet I’d never noticed before. I’d open it and find a secret passage to a dusty, unused part of the house that contained all kinds of treasure.

The dream made sense at the time. My grandmother’s house was huge. So huge that it was too much for her to handle when she got older, so she partitioned a small apartment for herself and sold the rest of the house to a family.

I assumed the dreams were my brain’s way of exploring the part of the house that was unavailable to me.

As an adult I dream of my own house. No dust, just cool hidden spaces. Very big, very elaborate spaces. In one dream I even found an entire circus, complete with cotton candy, elephants, and a Ferris Wheel.

The epiphany hit when I realized the dreams had meaning. They were telling me to work harder, to dig deeper, to explore those hidden recesses of imagination I needed to tap into to make my writing better.

I need to really think through last night’s dream. I haven’t had the house dream in years.

What is it my brain is trying to tell me? What am I missing? What do I need to find?

Update: There was a part of last night’s dream that was disturbing. It had to do not with my current house, but one I owned in the past. I described it to my daughter in detail.

She believes the dream is telling me to look forward, not back.

I like that. I’m going with it.