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Celebrating 10 years of digital fiction from One to One Development Trust's Dreaming Methods project. Originally launched in 2010.

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  • Years10of DigitalWriting

    Created by Dreaming Methods : Writing Fused With New Media : www.dreamingmethods.com

    Design and writing by Andy Campbell and Judi Alston

    Selected photography by Tristan Campbell | Clearance sculptures by Billy Johnson

    Audio soundtrack by Matt Wright www.matt-wright.co.uk

  • Yearsof Digital

    Created by Dreaming Methods : Writing Fused With New Media : www.dreamingmethods.com

    Design and writing by Andy Campbell and Judi Alston

    Selected photography by Tristan Campbell | Clearance sculptures by Billy Johnson

    Audio soundtrack by Matt Wright www.matt-wright.co.uk

    3

    Comment

    Dreaming Methods has been online and producing digital fiction since 2000.

    Our first few projects combined the written word with animation, music, film and interactivity - as well as the book-like page turning interfaces now common across the web and digital devices.

    Our early work can still be explored from the Project Archive section of the Dreaming Methods site. Take a look at Fractured, The Diary of Anne Sykes, The Virtual Disappearance of Miriam and Inside: A Journal of Dreams.

    We write fiction into - or onto - anything other than a word processor or a sheet of paper. We are engaged in a continuous exploration of the potential of written narratives blended with new media.

    We treat the screen as a completely new canvas onto which to write, where stories can be told in new ways and the text itself gains a wide range of different attributes: blurred, obscured, transient, animated and mouse-responsive, our digital fiction refuses to stand still.

    Although publishers are finally moving in our direction with the emergence of enhanced ebooks, we remain at the forefront of digital writing through our completely original and highly distinctive works which continue to be produced entirely within the digital environment.

    Look out for our forthcoming projects which will take writing not only into new browser-based experiences, but also into atmospheric computer game-like 3D environments.

    Andy Campbellauthor@dreamingmethods.com

  • 5Inside: A Journal of Dreams Extracts from the Journal 6

    Gone Two blank pages 10

    The Burner A Prologue to The Flat 12

    Game A Prologue to Dim OGauble 16

    Neighbour An Epilogue to Floppy 18

    FileSystem A Prologue to Consensus Trance 23

    Science Fieldwork Book Extracts from Nightingales Playground 28

    Clearance Profile of Iggi Hayer 35

  • September 14

    Dreamt of swimming in a dark ocean amomg many other people. We werethrowing heavy iron balls into the black waves.

    Later in the dream I was back in thehouse. There was a car parked downthe driveway tipped on its side.

    September 15

    I was playing football in the rain as a kid. Somebody bootedthe ball into the wires of a nearby pilon. It got stuck andstarted to spark and smoke.I climbed the pilon, found itscontrol panel and turned it off.The ball flopped to the grassfrom a great height. It wassoggy and melted.

    The fires playing up, takes ages to light.

    The grid covering the fire gleams a tarnished rainbow of colours. I like the glow of the heat.

    I must get it looked at.

    September 18

    I awoke during the early hours of the morning, then quickly fell asleepagain. I dreamt that I stopped a speeding train by reaching out fromthe side of the track and dragging the carriages to a halt. The trainscreeched and smoked, the carriagestilting and tipping, some collapsingonto their side on the embankment.

    I ran from the scene.

    I got the gas fire looked at today. The repair bloke seemed concerned, said had I been feeling tired or anything? I said yes, for the last six days. He stuck a yellow warning sticker on the bottom panel, said hed be back, dont touch anything and keep the windows open.

    Its half 9. He hasnt come back.

  • Inside: A Journal of Dreams

    dreamingmethods.com/uploads/inside/English

    revuebleuorange.org/bleuorange/02/campbell/French

    7

  • September 19

    Cant remember anything.Had trouble sleeping.

    The repair man returned and spent a lot

    of time lying on his back with his head

    up the fire. He was wearing dirty bottle

    green trousers and a slightly cleaner

    overcoat that lay open to reveal a

    multitude of pens and pads. His

    spanner kept clanging and dropping

    out of his hands. He seemed to be

    trying to loosen something.

    I spent a lot of time watching how his

    knees waved and his feet shuffled around

    as he worked. Now and again his whole

    body would twitch as the spanner slipped

    and there was an echoey bang.

    The man sat cross legged on the carpet,

    breathing hard and looking into the fire.

    Its still not safe, he said. I cant get the

    bastard off.

    September 20

    I thought about her for the firsttime in a long while. I felt sad.

    September 23

    Im staring through double glazedwindows into a cold, drizzly night.There is someone talking behindme, telling me the glass is about to explode. I try to pull away fromthe window but my hands arestuck flat on the glass. I wake up just as my skin begins to peel.

    I think he came back. I

    dont know why I didnt

    answer the door.

    Did I miss a day?

  • September 19

    Cant remember anything.Had trouble sleeping.

    The repair man returned and spent a lot

    of time lying on his back with his head

    up the fire. He was wearing dirty bottle

    green trousers and a slightly cleaner

    overcoat that lay open to reveal a

    multitude of pens and pads. His

    spanner kept clanging and dropping

    out of his hands. He seemed to be

    trying to loosen something.

    I spent a lot of time watching how his

    knees waved and his feet shuffled around

    as he worked. Now and again his whole

    body would twitch as the spanner slipped

    and there was an echoey bang.

    The man sat cross legged on the carpet,

    breathing hard and looking into the fire.

    Its still not safe, he said. I cant get the

    bastard off.

    September 20

    I thought about her for the firsttime in a long while. I felt sad.

    September 23

    Im staring through double glazedwindows into a cold, drizzly night.There is someone talking behindme, telling me the glass is about to explode. I try to pull away fromthe window but my hands arestuck flat on the glass. I wake up just as my skin begins to peel.

    I think he came back. I

    dont know why I didnt

    answer the door.

    Did I miss a day?

    September 26

    Im in a jungle among peopleof a tribe. These people havetwo sets of heads - one normalhead and then another one thatappears in a thin, ghostly formdirectly above it.

    The dream skits around... Imno longer with the tribe but onmy own watching a hippopotamussplashing around madly in mud.

    September 28

    I got a phone call. The caller told me that there was smoke blowing in through awindow upstairs. I went up to have a look.

    The spare bedroom wasdraped in mist. The bedsheetswere bright pink. My grandmothers old sideboard was there, against the adjacent wall. I walked through the room to the window andclosed it. I woke up.

    dreamingmethods.com/uploads/inside/

    9

  • There is nothing to write. I got

    here too late - and now the

    moments that would make

    up the strings of prose on

    this page have been washed

    away.

    The page is a canvas

    of sickness. Blank because

    I cannot remember; blank

    because I cannot focus; the

    ruled lines razor-wires forcing

    back the nothing within.

    Gone

  • Barely able to breath in the heat of

    the crowding chatter my pencil drops

    - I disappear clean through the fold.

    Deeply tucked into white, the words

    emerge: tiny untouched delicate

    whispers. A glimmer of presence.

    I do

    not w

    ant t

    o w

    aste

    ano

    ther

    scr

    ap o

    f spa

    ce.

    The crowd outside each

    desperate voice/face clutching

    a pen cannot bear to catch sight

    of an empty page. It has to be

    filled.

    How long can this exist

    without being covered in words.

    11

  • Suddenly, again, the join has taken place, she can sense it. She can never really pick up on the actual

    moment when things switch, but now, right here,

    washing this last mug in the greying soapy water

    (one of her nicest, a swirling bluebell-patterned

    one that Helen gave her for christmas last year)

    the tide has yet again Turned for the Worse,

    not that anything looks or smells or sounds

    different; the radios still on - You and Yours

    loud and steady - her feet are still ever so cold

    and swollen and shes still (definitely) the only

    one here in the flat tonight (Helens off today

    so Carl went straight home; she watched him

    secretly from the window bumbling back from

    school with some of his mates he didnt like it

    when she gawked out the window at him, said it

    was embarrassing) although I guess her being

    alone wasnt particularly She runs the mug

    under the cold tap wiping it around the rim with

    her fingers before putting it upsidedown on the

    cluttered drainingboard and turning around to

    seek out the teatowel, glancing (without making

    too much drama out of it) at the sligh