The other night, I had a strange dream. I suppose I was writing, but in the most unusual way. Here’s what happened:
I was dressed as a gentleman in the early 1800s, and walking through a cafeteria. I approached a woman who was dressed from the same century as I. After I asked her if she wanted to take a stroll in the garden, she took my arm and we exited. The entire time I spoke, describing my thoughts and our actions. Why was in dressed as a man, you ask? Well, I was in his perspective, of course.
So, skipping to the next scene, as dreams often do, I found myself dressed as the woman. We walked back and forth in a field with football players enjoying a game behind us. Once again, I spoke the entire time, spouting dialogue, actions and thoughts.
What does all this mean? Well, I have a good idea. I suppose the dream is something that I, as a writer, find myself doing all the time. While I sit in a crowded restaurant or on a park bench or where ever I am, I have my notebook, and I write. My mind is there in Regency England conversing with a lady or gentleman, watching their actions or experiencing their emotions while the contemporary world happens around me.
One thing I have always enjoyed about writing is the ability to lose myself in the lives of these characters. Sometimes I can read a particular passage in my writing and remember exactly where I was when I wrote it. However, the majority of the time I’m so lost in my world, I don’t even remember where I am.
Overall, I have to admit, the dream made me feel good. Like the confirmation that I truly found my calling in life.
I wish you all a happy dreaming!