Friday, August 20, 2010


Last night, I had the worst dream ever. Among the things one generally faces in a horrible dream (inability to escape, plans being continually thwarted, people attacking my dog), I dreamt that someone was trying to take my stories away from me. My dad had found out that if I don't write for extended periods of time, I'll start to hallucinate (this actually happens to me; I'd literally go crazy if I couldn't write), and in an effort to preserve my mental health, decided to remove from me all means of writing until I got over my insanity. Because this was a dream, and subject to dream logic, he was also taking away the stories I'd already written, gathering them up on hurridly-written, ink stained pieces of paper - and as he took them from me, the stories themselves winked out of existence; he wasn't taking the physical stories, he was taking their very being, past and present.

I should mention that my dad is a writer as well and would never do this in real life, even if it were possible - but that's not the point, as far as my relating my dream is concerned.

I just find it interesting, and further proof that I've chosen the right profession, that my worst nightmare consists largely of my not being able to write - not not being recognized for my writing or having my writing scorned and criticized, but simply having my writing taken away. It reinforces my long-held belief that my intentions, when it comes to writing are, and always have been, pure.

1 comment:

E said...

This sounds like quite the most awful nightmare I could conceive of (except maybe that one where the apocalypse had happened and we had to just somehow go on after there was nothing left...brrr). I remember the time my computer crashed, and every story that I'd started suddenly popped into nonexistence... It's the most terrible feeling in the world.

Except maybe "zombies are going to eat me". That one's pretty bad too.