There was a magical time when I’d wake from dreams that left me anxious to write. That is, arguably, a fairly common story source. Then, for some reason, the urge dried up despite the constant REM flow.
I really want that to change. And if last night’s plethora of images cannot instigate this, then I don’t know what will. Scenarios were mostly good, many lacking any frustration or embarrassment that often plague my intermittent nightmares.
There was one in which I could not find a free stall in a crowded bathroom overflowing with wedding party attendants, but I’ll just stop that tell right here. ~shudder~ I don’t know where my mind comes up with this stuff.
Alternatively, I dreamed of having been born with too many vertebrae, a virtual tail which my surgeon father removed early. Other details remain cloudy, but I was proud of this dream dad much like the real father blessing my life.
(Dad, you can stick with mechanical things and being a great listener.)
Another dream entailed a fantastical loom. I have written a post for September 2nd further detailing this brief plot, but the writing fodder is undeniable. Hopefully, I’ll have a short story ready for Friday.
It’s time I get started, come to think of it. Happy writing, all.