writing – Leslie Sheridan

SWEET DREAMS

In 2014 I self-published my first book, Sweet Dreams, a semi-autobiographical story about the little and not so little synchronicities that began my spiritual journey. I call them synchronicities because they were events that occurred once and while I wasn’t aware of what was happening then, I recalled them later on and knew they were important to my spiritual growth.

Lying awake at night listening to album sides of Meatloaf’s ‘”Bat Out of Hell” as an adolescent in the late 1970s, I wondered what happened to us when we died. I knew about the soul within us from sermons I was forced to listen to in church growing up. What happened to all of those souls? A few short years later I would be distraught about my best friend’s soul when she passed away suddenly.

And, it was because of that event that my spiritual journey went up a level. When I left home shortly after her passing to live briefly with my grandparents in Florida (in the book it was New Mexico where Rosie relocated to be with her grandmother).

Grandma Shirley, (I used my actual grandmother’s name in the book), was the first person to talk to me about death and dying and that it was okay to grieve for my friend. But, one day she worked a conversation of reincarnation into our lunch. It went completely over my head. She talked about deja vu: grandma Shirley knew she’d been here before. I recalled a nightmare that I had prior to my best friend Spacey’s passing one day and immediately told her about it. It was a dream about how I had found her body. I asked my grandmother if my dream was what caused Spacey’s death. She assured me I did not and explained it was a prophetic dream. I felt safe talking with Grandma Shirley about this. She was never uncomfortable or dismissive when I had questions.

Dreams increased from that point: prophetic and visitations. Dreams were guiding me and healing me. Another teacher appeared when my grandmother made her transition. More teachers would appear and events and dreams increased because I was ready to move forward on my spiritual journey.

When I finally started to write Sweet Dreams, I knew that I wasn’t alone. One presence that made herself known was Spacey. She cheered me on and cracked me up when she said this story would be a great movie and gave me gentle nudges when I wanted to stop writing. I have always said that I am not a writer but I am proud of this story. It is a story of healing and love and friendship.

Summer Break

I’ve taken a hiatus from writing this summer not because I’ve been on fabulous, adventurous vacations. Not this summer.

Earlier this summer a beloved family member made her transition to the spirit world. She loved rock and roll, was not religious at all and was supportive of my writing. Then, there is the matter of my day job that has had me so stressed out. I’ve also been thinking about writing a new chapter.

Being outside in nature this summer, however, has been relaxing and inspiring.

Inspiration

“If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

Like a lightning bolt, I never know when inspiration will strike.

Nature inspires me every day. I love the hues of blue and gray -whites on a really cold winter morning. I love how the sun dances off the water, glimmering sparkles of gold after a summer thunderstorm. I love the reds and golds of the fall foliage. I’m inspired by the textures of scenery – I love how it all comes together. I am always photographing it.

I’m inspired by a film with good, no, passionate acting and the cinematography. I love the beauty of film.

I’m inspired by art in the form of music, painting, drawing or photography, a play or musical. I love the passion that people exhibit through their work, their art.

I love a good book, not just a good book: literature. I love works by Tracy Chevalier and Patti Smith.

I’m inspired by people. People who live their lives with passion, a sense of adventure, an apparent acceptance of self so much so that they are content and able then to live in the present.

In high school I took a Humanities elective out of desperation. There was one other option that I would not take, the subject I don’t recall. So, I signed up for the comprehensive art class and was reluctantly accepted by the teacher. The class consisted of mainly art students and future art history majors. The teacher was refined and knew by looking at me that I didn’t deserve to be in his class – I was a bit rough around the edges but determined to stick it out in the class. Early on in the class there was a slide show of various paintings and other art pieces. One painting was Thomas Gainsborough’s The Blue Boy. He asked everyone in the class what we thought about the piece and offer a description of it. I had seen this painting before and when it was my turn to comment I said “I like it.” The teacher said my answer was unacceptable. He wanted to know why I liked it.

What I learned in this class stayed with me. It wasn’t the teacher, but rather the subject that inspired a love for the arts. When I go to art museums I really look at the piece, the colors, the subjects, the smallest details. What was the artist feeling, what did the artist wish to convey to us, or did the artist create it for themselves?

When I take photographs I don’t just see the scenery. I see texture and colors and light and I feel the emotions it evokes within me. Those are the elements of an art piece whether it’s a film, book, an historical piece in a museum, a painting, drawing or photograph. I am always interested, curious, grateful and inspired by life.

THE GIFT

Writing is not what I aspired to. In English and History classes in high school, I dreaded writing and barely got past the first paragraph. College papers, when they were required, were the bare minimum. My papers resembled lists and I repeated myself in those essays or reports. I did not enjoy writing. It may have been explained in English class, but I did not really know how to construct an essay, a story or a report. So, I could never have imagined then that I would become a published author.

It is said that to write well, you need to read to understand how sentences are structured and how to put a story together. Growing up, I loved reading books. I read classics like, “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” ; Guy de Maupassant’s tragic short story, “The Necklace” twice, and every book by Tracy Chevalier. I would read biographies on almost anyone and I still do, for school and for enjoyment. I read magazines from cover to cover, the New York Times and watched television news programs. This is how I learned how to deliver and write a story. I saw writing as a way to obtain information or for entertainment, never as an art form.

And then, in late 2008 I had a life change. After twenty years working in the accounting department for a media company that included a newspaper and a magazine, I was laid off. During the first year of unemployment when I had related the story of my spiritual journey to someone, it was suggested to me that I had a lot to tell, and that I should write books. I thought to myself “Never. That is not something I would remotely be interested in doing.” I did not like writing….I could not write. On reflection I wondered if that was because I did not think I had a story to tell.

Well, I did not think about that exchange again, until two years later when I took classes at a community college and found myself looking at the college’s club bulletin board. There were clubs and organizations for nearly everything and everyone. I found myself looking straight at a notice for the college newspaper. I was led to it. I felt it was a sign, so I humored my spirit guides, even though I still did not believe I could write anything. So, I attended the first meeting and I got a positive feeling. Something inside of me changed. Shortly after that, I wrote my first brief on an event at the college. A simple paragraph. I could not write any more than that. Still, I kept at it. There must be a reason why I joined the college newspaper.

My next assignment was to be an article on plagiarism. The publisher said there had been increased issues with students copying papers and cheating on tests due to the availability of cell phones. I took my time with it and really got into investigating and interviewing people for the piece. I really enjoyed what I was doing and the writing came easily: I wrote over 900 words. The editor told me the writing was good and nothing needed to be edited. I remember thinking: what happened in that one month from the first piece that was a basic paragraph of information that I scraped together to this 900 plus word story? I never took a writing class. I was never a journalist. So, how did this transition happen? Where did this sudden burst of writing come from?

I don’t know how else to explain it other than it was meant to be. Destiny. The universe led me to it. Specifically, on a soul level, it was planned before my current incarnation. We all have “blueprints” of what our human experiences will entail. The who, what, when, where and how of our souls journey. Who our parents will be, what lessons our souls want to learn, where we will live, who we will marry, how many children we will have, and when our souls current mission will end. I believe my spirit guides and guardian angels, who were with my soul during the planning stages for this incarnation, gave me gentle reminders about events that were pre-planned and guided me through the implementation of those plans. They led me to that bulletin board and subsequently helped with the writing of my book, “Sweet Dreams”. While the characters in the short story are composites of people I knew in this life-time, and are now on the other side, I am very certain one of them also assisted with her part of the story.

Everyone has a story to tell whether it’s happy, tragic or inspiring. Writing is only a part of mine. Although it did not come naturally to me until a few years ago, I really enjoy it now. For me, writing is a gift that I share with everyone. It is not mine to keep. I am grateful for this gift. Who knows where it will take me or for how long. Everyday, I look for something to write about; or an idea will “pop” into my head – divine intervention. Be grateful for your gifts whatever they are.

Happy Christmas and Best Wishes for all great things in 2015.

Sweet Dreams