This morning I realized something: at times I have trouble remembering my dreams because I don’t know if I was dreaming, or if my ideas were intruding and becoming manifest.
Let me explain:
Yesterday was an all around good day to dream. I started about laying out a new plan for a school grounds that would, should, could end up in a story, and it was a bit o’ work, because I’m working off an area that’s real, and I needed to try and get my measurements correct. I’m nutty that way, needing to see what’s available in the real world, and then going to work so I can get the fantasy as real as possible.
Some people call it too much work; I call it part of the job.
I know there are adjustments in one of the buildings I created. for one, the space is far too large, and I need to scale it down just a bit. I’ll do that this morning, after I finish this post. Maybe I’ll add a few buildings. Maybe I’ll start giving them names, and start in on instructors . . .
Then it was off to Fantasies in Harmonie. I didn’t get into the story until around nine-forty PM, which is late by anyone’s measure, but I was so enthralled by my grounds work that I didn’t notice the passage of time. When you get into your groove and you’re overtaken by the world you’re creating, you can find yourself getting lost easily.
There was writing, though, and it went smoothly. It was time to describe the various transformations, and though I’d done one and went part ways through another, there was room to discuss what had happened to my characters, and for one person, that involved a lot of self-discovery which, in turn, required a bit of wordage to show what she was doing.
I once again found myself in my groove, because I’d finish a paragraph, then think, “Keep going; you need to finish what she’s feeling.” It’s late, I’m tired, my eyes are starting to hurt–but I needed to finish. That’s a feeling I haven’t had in a while when it comes to my writing. You take a couple of months off to edit your work, to get your stories ready for publishing, and you get out of that mood of writing because you need to get something said.
By the time I finished with the line that I’d been waiting to write for a while–lets just say it’s something Ariel should have said after she washed up on shore–I’d put eleven hundred words behind me, and I’d done that in one hour. I was even impressed, because I haven’t cranked out something like that in a while. But the fantasy was there, and it demanded I give it my energy–and I did.
I had to write.
This is why I have trouble remembering my dreams some mornings: I don’t always know what’s a dream and what’s left over from my imagination. They are both one and the same–and it’s my job to get them out for others to see.