The Stuff of Dreams
If you ever find yourself thinking your brain isn’t creative, just go to sleep for a while. If your dreams can’t convince you otherwise, then I’m a badger.
Just a for instance, I have been feeling a little stressed/sick/fevered/overworked lately. Last night was my final night of work before a whopping six days off (!!!), and my body looked at me and said, “F U, Emmie. You’re all, ‘I’m gonna get up and write!’ And I’m all, ‘That’s whut yoooou think, biatch!'” And of course it won that spat, and I woke up at 2.
Growl. Again. I guess I needed it. Besides, here I am, and in all that slightly ghetto talk from my bod, it ended up giving me something to write about this afternoon. Last night I had a dream about the zombie apocalypse. This is actually a recurring dream, and I think the fact that it is such keeps me from getting behind the e-pub revolution. The idea of having all my work disappear were electricity to become obsolete scares me more than the zombies. I’ll keep my shelves, thanksh.
But I digress. This wasn’t just any zombie apocalypse. I was with a group of people including my husband, and we stumbled across a little clan of survivors on a farm (think Hirshel’s a la Walking Dead, but snazzier and with more children) where we grew oranges and fought the dead. We lived there for a while in the dream, but then we ventured out to…where else? DISNEY WORLD! It was deserted! It was epic! But then we ended up in Manhattan (apparently in this zombie apocalypse, people are quite mobile) in a high rise apartment with a friend’s family and some zombies. Another quirk of the apocalypse was that the zombies maintained their personalities for a while and could be safe-ish to be around. That’s something that they played with in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and I thought it worked fairly well. Anyway, the last thing I recall in the dream, we returned to Disney, and it was once again open and making tons of money. Ah, capitalism. Even in a zombie apocalypse.
The point is, all of this is chock full of inspiration. Why were we growing oranges on the farm? How come the zombies were safe for a while after they got infected? There’s a novel in there, I swear it.
I’ve had some pretty bizarre dreams in the past, like the one where if I ate five pickles, I would explode, and someone had forced me to eat four.
I’ve also spent a lot of time dreaming I was Buffy Summers. Regardless, gentle viewers, if you’re looking for inspiration, you needn’t look farther than the unplumbed depths of your own wacky, wacky brain.
Start writing them down. You never know when one will decide to start gnawing away at your flesh.