Cockroaches and Parking Spaces - That's what happens when you write from your dreams

 

            It sounded so easy when author Stephanie Meyer of “Twilight” fame said she got the idea from one of her dreams. Oh…if only it were that easy. Maybe her dreams are orderly and sequential. Maybe her characters are well developed and believable, even if they drift by in a Nano-second of sleep. But I can’t rely on REM sleep to provide me with any of the fodder needed to craft one of my novels.

            It’s not that I don’t dream. I dream all right, but it’s a hodgepodge of weird images, unrelenting obstacles, endless frustration and the occasional disgustingly gross vision that inevitably wakes me up and begs me to head to the shower! Last night was a prime example.

            I dreamt I was getting my hair done, but when I leaned back into the sink at the salon, the hairdresser yelled, “Wait a minute! There’s a cockroach in there!” I awoke in an instant, immediately brushing off my hair and looking at my pillow for any signs of unwanted bugs.

            “It’s the cats’ fault,” my husband explained. “You let them sleep in the bed with us. They walk across our heads at all hours of the night. No wonder you thought bugs were crawling around.”

            Then, the parking lot dream. (This is actually a variation of the same dream I’ve been having for years. The one where you get to a goal, only to have someone or something take it away or prevent you from getting there. I think there’s a psychological term for this type of dream but I’ll be darned if I know what it is). Anyway, the dream was simple enough. I was trying to park my car in a parking lot near a building I had to enter, but every time I got into a parking space and got out of the car, a man in a long black trench coat stopped me and told me I couldn’t park there. This went on and on, and each time I kept trying to get a look at the guy’s face but couldn’t. I woke up frustrated and miserable.

            Maybe it’s because I have too many real things “hanging over my head” that are unfinished. Like my taxes. Every time I start on them, I suddenly stop and find myself working on my next novel. Or the laundry. Yesterday it actually made it to the washer. I’m aiming for the dryer tonight when I get done writing this blog.

            So you see, I really can’t count on my dreams to give me the ideas for my next novel. If I’m lucky, maybe the best I can hope for is a decent night’s sleep without cockroaches or parking lots.