Dreams: Frustrated writer version
Had a really awful nightmare which, in retrospect, was funny.
All of my writer friends are to be honored at an internationally-televised ceremony. I am eligible, but I can't find anything on my computer to bring with me (apparently you don't qualify as a writer in dream-land if you don't have a piece of writing on you right at that moment). My thumb drive is gone, all my email backups are gone. Every printout is missing. None of the friends who have backups are available by phone. My phone breaks and my computer dies.
In desperation I load my dead computer into the car, intending to find someone who can resurrect it along with the data at the event. On the way I am in a terrible car accident and am impaled through the stomach with something very sharp. It is horrible and agonizing and there was blood everywhere and gaping wounds and this part was really disturbing. I am sent to the hospital where they perform surgery to repair it, and before the anesthesia has even worn off I am staggering into the venue hall, desperate not to lose my place.
I arrive and beg them to let me on despite not having any of my writing with me. I am told by the event coordinator that I have two minutes to write something, anything. Even a haiku. I am still in terrible pain. There is nothing to write on but a small paper napkin. I cast about futilely for something to write with and can only find pencils (which tear the napkin) or felt-tipped pens (which tear the napkin). I can't get any writing done.
Everyone is angry with me for not being able to go on. Each writer has been paired with a celebrity announcer. Mine is Michael Sheen. He winds up going on with Catherynne Valente,* who wins, and as a prize they will both be appearing in a movie version of her winning story. Because I like her very much, I cannot even be mad about this. Again, I am still in terrible pain, but I applaud with everyone else and then slink quietly off to read and pick at my stitches.
I woke up expecting to be in pain, but it was only dream-pain, and not real pain that makes its way into a dream. Thank goodness. The pain was really quite terrible.
Obviously, I'm having issues with my writing-type creativity right now. I don't think I could have made up a clearer representation of it if I had tried.
* yuki_onna. I think the reason my subconscious picked her is that I have seen video of her giving an acceptance speech, so it was easy to imagine, and also because I really, really like her stuff and my subconscious was trying to take away even my ability to sulk. Also, I am working on something for her at the moment, and she's on my mind. So it's not personal.
All of my writer friends are to be honored at an internationally-televised ceremony. I am eligible, but I can't find anything on my computer to bring with me (apparently you don't qualify as a writer in dream-land if you don't have a piece of writing on you right at that moment). My thumb drive is gone, all my email backups are gone. Every printout is missing. None of the friends who have backups are available by phone. My phone breaks and my computer dies.
In desperation I load my dead computer into the car, intending to find someone who can resurrect it along with the data at the event. On the way I am in a terrible car accident and am impaled through the stomach with something very sharp. It is horrible and agonizing and there was blood everywhere and gaping wounds and this part was really disturbing. I am sent to the hospital where they perform surgery to repair it, and before the anesthesia has even worn off I am staggering into the venue hall, desperate not to lose my place.
I arrive and beg them to let me on despite not having any of my writing with me. I am told by the event coordinator that I have two minutes to write something, anything. Even a haiku. I am still in terrible pain. There is nothing to write on but a small paper napkin. I cast about futilely for something to write with and can only find pencils (which tear the napkin) or felt-tipped pens (which tear the napkin). I can't get any writing done.
Everyone is angry with me for not being able to go on. Each writer has been paired with a celebrity announcer. Mine is Michael Sheen. He winds up going on with Catherynne Valente,* who wins, and as a prize they will both be appearing in a movie version of her winning story. Because I like her very much, I cannot even be mad about this. Again, I am still in terrible pain, but I applaud with everyone else and then slink quietly off to read and pick at my stitches.
I woke up expecting to be in pain, but it was only dream-pain, and not real pain that makes its way into a dream. Thank goodness. The pain was really quite terrible.
Obviously, I'm having issues with my writing-type creativity right now. I don't think I could have made up a clearer representation of it if I had tried.
* yuki_onna. I think the reason my subconscious picked her is that I have seen video of her giving an acceptance speech, so it was easy to imagine, and also because I really, really like her stuff and my subconscious was trying to take away even my ability to sulk. Also, I am working on something for her at the moment, and she's on my mind. So it's not personal.