Dreams.
I've often wanted to talk about my dreams, but I think many people aren't interested in hearing others' dreams and telling dreams is self indulgent, and this is a blog on writing, after all. And as I sit here in the dark with a bright light trained on the computer and black words marching across a light background, the beauty of the dream is fading anyway.
Like most people I occasionally play with photography, and like most people, I think I've framed a few works of art with a camera. And that was the basis of my dream – it had everything, this dream, but mostly it had beauty.
I dreamt my mother and I were in England (or Wales or Ireland, though I've never been to Ireland), we were driving (which we don't do, her thinking you miss things that way and I thinking I'd kill us both and others with distraction), and we came to this incredible place. It had a name, but I can't recall it now. But it was gorgeous, all shades of green. I saw openings into a haunted garden (and, yes, I'm getting meaning, but don't want to think of that), of mist and dips and rises in the land and interestingly shaped trees. We decided to go on into the town so I could get a camera, but they only sold a black and white one that you could later have the pictures colored. Much of the little town was sunken, wet brown beams of ancient wood, the wet marsh reclaiming old houses. I took a lot of photos and knew they were wonderful...
It went on from there, and I think as I was rising from sleep, in those few moments that can be eons, my mind spun a story, a love story, about another photographer, a man, who's very famous and comes to photograph the town, but realizes his work isn't as good as hers/mine. Well, I'm a romance writer, and I'm single. I get to be the heroine of my dreams.
Then I woke and it was still dark and I thought that perhaps the weather people had been wrong and the mild front had arrived early, cooling the hot, dry yellow-brown land.
Why I'm breaking my rule and telling you a smidgeon of this dream is because the sights I saw and the photos I took were of surpassing beauty, beauty that makes your heart ache, and I'm a little surprised but quite joyful that I have those images inside me.
So cherish your images, and don't analyze your dreams to death (there was a rushing river, too), and if your dreams lead to a story and it pleases you, write it.
Robin
Like most people I occasionally play with photography, and like most people, I think I've framed a few works of art with a camera. And that was the basis of my dream – it had everything, this dream, but mostly it had beauty.
I dreamt my mother and I were in England (or Wales or Ireland, though I've never been to Ireland), we were driving (which we don't do, her thinking you miss things that way and I thinking I'd kill us both and others with distraction), and we came to this incredible place. It had a name, but I can't recall it now. But it was gorgeous, all shades of green. I saw openings into a haunted garden (and, yes, I'm getting meaning, but don't want to think of that), of mist and dips and rises in the land and interestingly shaped trees. We decided to go on into the town so I could get a camera, but they only sold a black and white one that you could later have the pictures colored. Much of the little town was sunken, wet brown beams of ancient wood, the wet marsh reclaiming old houses. I took a lot of photos and knew they were wonderful...
It went on from there, and I think as I was rising from sleep, in those few moments that can be eons, my mind spun a story, a love story, about another photographer, a man, who's very famous and comes to photograph the town, but realizes his work isn't as good as hers/mine. Well, I'm a romance writer, and I'm single. I get to be the heroine of my dreams.
Then I woke and it was still dark and I thought that perhaps the weather people had been wrong and the mild front had arrived early, cooling the hot, dry yellow-brown land.
Why I'm breaking my rule and telling you a smidgeon of this dream is because the sights I saw and the photos I took were of surpassing beauty, beauty that makes your heart ache, and I'm a little surprised but quite joyful that I have those images inside me.
So cherish your images, and don't analyze your dreams to death (there was a rushing river, too), and if your dreams lead to a story and it pleases you, write it.
Robin
posted by FantasyAuthor RobinDOwens | 5:21 AM
4 Comments:
I may be among the minority, but I love hearing about other peoples' dreams. Not only do they give us a glimpse into another's psyche, but an avenue to take us places we can't get in reality. :)
I also don't think that writing down dreams is pure self-indulgence. It's an exercise in creativity you can't get anywhere else, because our unconscious minds pull together pieces we'd never conceive of while awake. If you came up with a wonderful idea during a brainstorming session you'd write it down, right? If nothing else, they work out the plotting muscles when you try to figure out what went where and why. ;)
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for sharing.
When I have vivid dreams, I always write them down. It's neat to go back in my dream journal and read over something I dreamed about several years ago. A lot of times, I can remember the dream after I read what I wrote. Kind of like a memory.
I never discredit my dreams. Even though she's been dead for some 15 years, I still dream about my grandmother at times. It's always very comforting; in that way, it feels like a part of her is still with me.
On another note, I had a great time at the PNR Paraphernalia chat last night. It was great to see you there!
Well, folks, I think I'll continue to restrain myself. There was a time when I kept a dream journal and began to dream lucidly, and maybe when I'm a full time writer again, I'll do that once more. I usually kept a microcasette recorder next to my bed (I still should, but it's in my purse) for ideas and dreams at night.
Good seeing you at the chat, too, Cora. I haven't spoken of the chats, probably will the first Wednesday so folks will show up for Berkley's first Thursday chat....
Robin
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