I am not writing.
Well, I am writing, but I am not writing stories. I am writing website material, reading guide questions, columns, and lots of emails. But I am not creating new stories on the page.
My brain/soul knows this and thus, I start to dream. It's my body/soul's way of kicking me in the ass and saying, "Hey, pick up your pen. Time to write."
Dream, dream, wacky wonderful dreams.
Last night:
A friend here in Shanghai died, and it was so real, I thought it was true when I woke this morning. She was gone and I was following clues. Then I was in an auditorium-type of place and thousands of slate tiles were stacked from the ground up. I had to get down to the floor of the auditorium on these tiles, but they (and I) kept sliding and sliding. I couldn't get a footing. Then a frog. And a grocery store.
Then Tully started screaming (in real life, not in the dream). Andrew went in to soothe her; she's been waking once or twice a night seemingly with a nightmare or some other ghoulish alarm. Shrieking, but easily and quickly soothed.
And then me, back into the dream. Swimming and climbing and wandering. So deeply into the dream I could barely pull myself out of it this morning. Woozy and lost upon waking.
And now?
Planning to pull novel #2 from its dusty bin and figure a way to work on it for at least 30 minutes a day. Yes, I need to work on the marketing for THIRSTY, but yes, I need to be writing.
Technorati Tags: Kristin Bair O'Keeffe, writing, process, dreams
Well, I am writing, but I am not writing stories. I am writing website material, reading guide questions, columns, and lots of emails. But I am not creating new stories on the page.
My brain/soul knows this and thus, I start to dream. It's my body/soul's way of kicking me in the ass and saying, "Hey, pick up your pen. Time to write."
Dream, dream, wacky wonderful dreams.
Last night:
A friend here in Shanghai died, and it was so real, I thought it was true when I woke this morning. She was gone and I was following clues. Then I was in an auditorium-type of place and thousands of slate tiles were stacked from the ground up. I had to get down to the floor of the auditorium on these tiles, but they (and I) kept sliding and sliding. I couldn't get a footing. Then a frog. And a grocery store.
Then Tully started screaming (in real life, not in the dream). Andrew went in to soothe her; she's been waking once or twice a night seemingly with a nightmare or some other ghoulish alarm. Shrieking, but easily and quickly soothed.
And then me, back into the dream. Swimming and climbing and wandering. So deeply into the dream I could barely pull myself out of it this morning. Woozy and lost upon waking.
And now?
Planning to pull novel #2 from its dusty bin and figure a way to work on it for at least 30 minutes a day. Yes, I need to work on the marketing for THIRSTY, but yes, I need to be writing.
Technorati Tags: Kristin Bair O'Keeffe, writing, process, dreams
