I had a dream two nights ago that I'm trying to mold into...something. A doe was standing in the woods with me. It was beautiful, trusting, purity incarnate. I told it to run, could feel a clock ticking. Something primal was welling up within me. Pushed the deer, tried to spook it into fleeing. It wouldn't run, just sort of watched me. The next thing I know I had a frying pan in my hand and I'm cooking up onions, shouting for the damned thing to run. NOW! I woke up with this sense that it wasn't for me to teach the deer that I was predator. But to teach the deer that it wasn't a choice. Something about the dichotomy of dischord vs. unity. *scratches head* I often wake up with the sense that I'm smarter on the inside.
I have a long history of vivid dreaming. My earliest memory is a dream I had when I was 4. I may have been younger, but my best guess was 4.
I typically write romance. Life is brutal and ugly. I need the happy endings in my romance stories to gasp for air. My dreams, however, are very not romantic. Sci fi, futuristic, horror, suspense, YA. There's a bible full of story ideas in my notebooks that seem unlikely to ever be written. Most days I wish there were three of me. I'll never get finished in a lifetime nearly half the stories that dwell inside.
I have a long history of vivid dreaming. My earliest memory is a dream I had when I was 4. I may have been younger, but my best guess was 4.
I typically write romance. Life is brutal and ugly. I need the happy endings in my romance stories to gasp for air. My dreams, however, are very not romantic. Sci fi, futuristic, horror, suspense, YA. There's a bible full of story ideas in my notebooks that seem unlikely to ever be written. Most days I wish there were three of me. I'll never get finished in a lifetime nearly half the stories that dwell inside.