If you’ve been around this blog awhile, you know I write a lot about dreams. In a sense, my dreams are my purest writing, straight from the subconscious, uncensored. I pay particular attention to mine in times of stress. Sometimes I don’t recognize I am stressed until I see a pattern in my dreams. Like now.
Lately, I’ve had a series of dreams where I’m in one of two situations. I either see words on the paper, but can’t read them or someone is speaking to me solemnly, but I can’t hear them. Last night it was Locke—or was it Smokey—talking to me. (Why yes, that is another LOST reference. :-)) I felt I was in danger and tried hard to make out what he said. I could hear his voice faintly, but not understand a single word. The frustration woke me. So, this morning, being the ever inquisitive me, I said, “What the heck does this mean?”
Well … duh. Didn’t I read my last blog post? Not only am I momentarily blinded to this novel, I am also deaf to it. I have a great deal of anxiety about it. I am stressed. So, I’m stepping back from it for a little while—are you listening subconscious? I’m not going to wonder how I could have written it better, or what revisions might lie in its future. I’m focusing elsewhere for as long as it takes for me to get centered again.
I might focus on reading, since I’ve started six books in the last month, but not finished any … and not because they aren’t worthy. I might finish a portrait I started a few weeks ago. I might dope myself with allergy meds and see what I can salvage in my flower garden. If words that need to be written come to me, I will write, but I’m not going to force them. I need peaceful dreams for a change.
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