We are near waking when we dream we are dreaming. Novalis (German author cir. 1800).
I can't imagine I am different from other writers. Recently, a coworker and I witnessed an unusual event. "Could you write about that?" he asked. "I've got most of the first chapter sketched out," I answered. And I did.
I've taken much of the last four months away from novel writing, preferring to focus on the blog, and on marketing. Truly, telling people they should read The Heart of the Matter or purchase a copy of A Miracle of Zeros and Ones from my quickly dwindling stock is far harder than actually writing the books. Wild Child Publishing does a lot of the heavy lifting, but small indie authors are expected to be out front, selling.
This week, I embarked on "Amy 2," working title But Always Me. I'm not happy with the title, but the manuscript... It's totally coming along. The first draft is done, the revisions well underway. Amy discovers a small number of officers who just don't get the message and...
I recently had a chance to do a book club interview, facilitated by daughter Beth. Among the many great moments was the revelation that some readers found Amy's husband Ken...well, kind of a dick. I didn't write him to be that way, specifically, but it is not an unreasonable conclusion. In Amy 2, he shows a darker side that will not surprise those readers. The first several chapters are on their way to my writing coach. Just FYI - the ending is so powerful I did an all nighter so I could begin "Amy 3," just to make sure she was okay.
When a brain is reintroduced to a drug it craves, weird shit happens. I had a dream last night, a strange dream. I was at a truck stop (I've recently discovered clips posted by a woman trucker on YouTube who Vlogs a ton - great stuff) and was introduced to the "Schuffenglobben," an artillery piece that fires shells that can be targeted to one person (and it will seek them out - sort of smart munitions). The operator of the weapon tested it out on the guy standing next to me, a tame-looking guy in a white t-shirt who was buying a bag of chips and a road warrior-sized drink. I decided to beat feet most riki-tik, because the shell had been fired into the air and I had zero plans for being around when it landed.
Weird, huh? I speak very little German ("ein bier, bitte" being the full extent of it) so it's a little odd this machine - a sort of metal box on a tracked chassis - would have a name I can hardly pronounce. It probably means something crass or crude. I'm not going to guess. That's not the end of the story.
The dream became...well, how would I structure the blog? Where to begin, how to describe the armor. Why is there no gender-neutral singular pronoun? It is taken (Cousin It, on Adam's Family) and he/she... If it isn't written "she/he" is that a micro-aggression? Would readers find this fascinating, or creepy? Should I go for funny, introspective, or just tell the story and let them decide.
I'm dreaming about writing. I've been away from it too long.
Oh... Heart is selling like crazy. It's a really fun story, a look at how moms cope with our crazy profession. You should buy a copy. Before I have to take more time off, and another dream forces me to blog.