Real Words in Made Up Places — Episode 4: Dayna Bennett
Today, dear followers, we bring you an interview of other-worldly epic proportions. To be honest, I didn’t even think it was possible. After all, she is in another dimension. (Explanations? Yes, my faithful readers, in due time.)
We’ll be speaking with Dayna Bennett, author of A Light Left Behind, a modern romance with hints of the supernatural. Today’s setting would shine some light on where she may have received some of her ideas.
On the morning of our talk, I received a knock on my door with only a letter laying on my mat. “In order to settle in for our chat, there’s a few rules I’d like to go over with you. Guidelines, so to speak, that if you agree to will show you another side of life. Above all else: Trust in the process.” D.B.
Moments later, a sky blue 2020 Rolls Royce Phantom pulls up in my driveway. The back-passenger door opens, beckoning me to come along. Tinted windows and a stoic looking driver make the hair on my neck tingle just enough and I find myself eagerly sliding onto the back seat. A large red beanie lays on the seat next to me. In black letters, it reads “Put On”. Aside from an inside joke about Alice, my intuition giggles with glee about the mystery, as the beanie encompasses my whole head.
“It’s truly for your safety.” I could only assume it’s the driver. “If you don’t know where we’re going, no one can ever know where you went. Make yourself comfortable.” Pearl Jam’s, Ocean, plays over the speaker and I close my eyes.
“Are you sure there wasn’t a moment where he could have seen something?”
“No! Dammit, let me in.”
Voices stir me awake as I wonder how long I’ve been asleep. A hand reaches for my arm as I’m pulled out of the car. Two giant men stand on either side of me, guiding me to a black door. The outside light isn’t bright enough for me to check my surroundings. A slot opens just above eye level and I hear: “Password, please.”
Hesitation and worry run through my veins, as the “gentlemen” grip my arms a little tighter. In my best Farsi, I recount the password Dayna left on my voicemail last night. As the door is unlocked and slowly slides open, the “fellas” release their hold, tip their hats to me, and walk away laughing.
“We appreciate your patience and your understanding, Mr. Huston.” Another voice, another speaker.
“Where am I? Where is Dayna?” I can admit to my fair share of fear at this moment. If anything was to happen to me here, I wouldn’t know if it was better to stay or leave.
“There is no need to be concerned. Our setting can’t be divulged to you now. Trust us — no one wants to have the pressure of knowing and then not being able to share this experience. It has to be by invitation only. Please have a seat and we’ll get started.”
A plaid-green rocking chair sits in the middle of the room. Instinctively, I start a slow rock in the chair, as the voice says, “That’s it. Keep rocking.” As I rock a little faster, the room starts spinning, and those spots that I see in my eyes on a hot summer’s day starts flooding my vision. When I start feeling like I’m on a roller coaster ride, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“He’s starting to come through! We nearly have him!”
I feel my body turning to glue as the rocking chair has taken on a life of its own and throws me off to the floor. Which is now grass?
“Bruce!” A familiar voice this time. “Hey, B! I’m so glad you made it!”
As Dayna helps me to my feet, I look out into a field of perfectly manicured, green flowing grass. The sky above has an ocean-blue texture to it, with specks of purple cloud formations dotting the horizon. A kangaroo in a three-piece suit hops by with a wave.
“Welcome to Nova Lor,” Dayna says with a slight pause of pride in between. “You could consider this to be Earth 2 if it’s easier for you.”
“Hi, Dayna. Did I..did I just see a kangaroo in a suit wave at us?”
“Yeah, it’s a little different here. You really are going to have a lot of questions for me, and I’ll try to answer what I can or direct you to others when I can’t. For now, let’s go for a run, shall we?”
As our feet hit the ground, I glance behind us, and each footstep through the grass is instantly replaced by new grass as if we didn’t leave a single print. We run across the field, over a couple of hills and stop at a rolling river where Dayna stops to take a quick drink of the clearest water I’ve ever seen. Naturally, I hesitate before I kneel down and cup some genuinely translucent water in my hands.
“Nova Lor is special,” Dayna says, after reading my confusion. “It’s a different dimension to our own world. Don’t ask me to explain the science behind it, but just know that you will be safe in every moment you spend here. Time is also in constant change here, too. Minutes on Earth are years here. It’s the perfect getaway for anyone who just really needs to ‘take five.’”
“The animals?” I ask.
“We understand their languages, they understand ours. We’re all life forms here and we all know what we need from each other to survive and feel free. Some of them take jobs, some of them have families. Some of them are artists, some of them are writers.” As Dayna explains the details, my awe starts to melt away and everything feels right.
“Before we settle in for today’s interview, I was hoping you’d go for another run with me.” Dayna smiles and starts jogging away. I take one last precious drink of H20 (unsure if it’s even labeled that here) and run to catch up.
Just over the northern hill (I assume it’s north, but I have no real idea of anything in this dimension), I see what could only be described as Aquamarine City with a glow around the buildings.
“What, you’ve never seen floating buildings before? Tourist.” Dayna laughs. “Let’s head to the library for the interview.”
After taking a moment to calm my senses on the fantastical sightings of the day, I start the interview.
Bruce: What happened when you were young that told you that you had to write?
Dayna: When I was young, I wanted to be an actress. My mom used to say I had a “creative flair”, but I think it was more that I was always moved and inspired by storytelling. I loved theater. In 5th grade, my teacher told me I would make a great writer and it seemed to always be a strength in school. In 7th grade, a teacher gave me a hardbound journal, and in it she wrote “fill these pages with your voice!” All of those things, along with a creative energy that was always looking for an outlet, seemed to lead me to write. I began journaling and found a safe place where I could express myself without fear of judgment. I wrote short stories just for fun. Writing assignments were my favorite in college. But often, writing was mental survival for me.
B: Which authors were your greatest inspiration?
D: I was an avid reader as a child. Judy Blume, the Nancy Drew series by Carolyn Keene, and of course, Little Women. My mom gave me a copy when I was around 8 years old and I read it over and over. Later, I would become a fan of Barbara Kingsolver, Jennifer Weiner, Fannie Flagg, Arthur Golden, and Dean Koontz for a time. But the single most inspirational voice I read was when I was going through my divorce and read Eat, Pray, Love for the second time. I’d read it before and wasn’t dazzled but found so much to relate to the second time around. Since then, Elizabeth Gilbert has inspired me on several levels. I’ve been fortunate enough to attend several of her workshops and I find her to be as inspiring now as I did then.
B: If you could snap your fingers and have one of your work in progress/ideas be done — which would it be?
D: The novel I have been editing for a year…
B: Where do you write?
D: My couch, my bed, my kitchen table, my car, when I’m running, when I’m falling asleep…I meet with one of my best friends once a week (or we did before the pandemic and let me tell you — I MISS HER!), and up in the hills in Paso once a year with my writing buddies. I try to protect my writing time by writing *at least* twenty minutes a day so sometimes, that’s between students. When I am lucky, twenty minutes turns into more.
B: Why do you write?
D: I used to journal to get thoughts out of a loop in my head onto the page. When I decided I wanted to write for creative expression, I found I got a bit stuck. I was *trying* to write “something that would sell.” And honestly, that killed my creativity. I couldn’t finish anything. Literally, nothing. I was also afraid to share what I wrote because um, hello? You are SUPER VULNERABLE when you share your writing. So, I started a blog and there I practiced being vulnerable. And every time I shared something — and didn’t DIE — I got a little stronger, a little more bold. On the blog, I write personal essays so it’s a double whammy on the vulnerability front. But I gained a lot of confidence doing that — and also found that the stories in me wanted to be told and that they didn’t need to be perfect. I don’t write to “write a best seller.” I write because it feeds my soul in a way that only creativity can.
B: Why should someone come to a writers conference?
D: Because it will give you what you need most to pursue a writing life — inspiration, ideas, support, opportunities, experience, and most importantly, other writers. I was scared to attend my first writers conference, but it was there I found a common spirit, energy, drive, motivation, and some of the BEST people I have ever had the pleasure to know. It was there that I found the courage to call myself a writer, and it’s because of CCWC I finished my book. It also brought some of the most important people in my life to me.
B: Rejection comes for us all. What is/what was your way to cope with rejection?
D: I think being single after divorce and dating for seven years gave me LOTS of practice in that department! (Insert emoji!) None of us likes rejection, right? But, it’s necessary. It’s not all bad. Sometimes rejection is saving you from something truly not meant for you and preserving you for the thing that is. Every no brings you closer to a yes. Every no is an opportunity to learn. Every no is a chance to take stock, build character, and persevere. And as for writers conferences — another benefit to attending one is that when you are in the (excellent) company of other writers, you learn that everyone has a collection of rejection. I can’t WAIT to start collecting rejection letters on my book — because that means I WROTE A BOOK! AND I SENT IT OUT! Fortune favors the brave, after all. :)
“Dayna? Dayna Bennett?” A voice from across the library hall echoes through the chambers, followed by a multitude of “Shhhhh’s”.
A tall, blond-haired, smiling woman leads the pack of a group of friends, that are somehow familiar. She is followed by another woman who could be her twin except for the crown on her head and a pair of lynxes at her side. Next, is a red-haired cougar in a black and red dress; a woman who could be Dayna’s twin with two suited guards wearing earpieces; and a man who could be my twin.
“Andrea?” I ask the smiling woman. She nods and gives me a hug.
“Bruce 2?” I ask my twin.
“Weeeellll,” he screams in a lyrical voice. “I jusss’ go byyyy Brrrrruuucccee heeeerrre!”
“To put your mind at ease, Mr. Huston,” that voice from before is played through a speaker somewhere. “You’re twin only speaks in a sing-song voice here on Nova Lor. And, it’s time to go.”
Those sun-light sensors flood my retina, and within moments, I find myself seated on my front porch, wishing I could find my way back.
