Hidey-ho, Scriblers, J here. Saturday again already – can you believe it? First, I’d like to mention that February is Black History month – click here for some cool information. And since my post today is about dreams, the title seemed doubly fitting.
Do you dream? Lots of people I talk to don’t. Or at least they never remember their dreams…ever. Some folks tell me that they can occasionally recall a wisp of something, a hint of a thought, sheer like gossamer and as intangible as a breeze. Others tell me they dream in black and white, or something akin to still photos.
Not me, dude. I dream in a high action, Technicolor bonanza, complete with characters, plot, costume and car chases. In fact, I often wake up exhausted from these antics, as I did this morning.
Let me tell you what woke me this morning. After a high speed car chase where I was a passenger in a black 1970’s sports car doing upwards of 200 miles per hour, trying to catch up to a rogue cop-robot (thank God the road was perfectly straight with no other traffic), where the driver was a handsome man working dangerously to clear his name (he looked suspiciously like Jason O’Mara, the hero in One for the Money, which I saw earlier this week – fun movie!), we took it to the regular high way, weaving in and out of traffic, now chasing two of the out of control cop-robots.
These cop-robots looked a bit like the robots in the movie iRobot, but bulkier especially around the shoulders. They sped along, hunched over on all fours in a fast rollerblading, side to side motion. I think one of the Autobots in the Transformer movies moves like that. Well, the cop-robots were the bad guys and we were trying to knock them into each other to kill them off, while not endangering society in any way, but we weren’t successful. And the dream changed.
This happens often. One minute I’ll be somewhere doing one thing and the next I’ll be in a new location – but it seems to make sense at the time. It’s only later when I’m trying to explain this adventure to someone (poor hubby!) that I realize how jumpy things are. Well anyway, the hero (the driver – he didn’t have a name) had been captured and we were trying to rescue him. Now I was his teenaged son. We (the resistance force – a ragtag army no better prepared than the farmers with pitchforks who beat the world’s best army in 1783) were lined up in a big “T” junction corridor in some kind of industrial building…ready to rescue our handsome hero (golly, he needs a name!) when some of our forces carefully took several steps, revealing guns pointed at us. We had been betrayed.
Sadly, the guy standing next me was shot in the butt and the knee. They thought he was the hero’s son, not me. I begged him to remain quiet. Apparently, I’m quite the coward. But in the end we escaped to the parking garage. I carried the shot guy most of the way. Unfortunately it was very dark and we couldn’t see. I was trying to tear a sheet with my teeth, the way they always do in the movies – it was really hard! Just as I had my bandage ready to go, while reveling in our escape, a barge moved into the garage along a canal that I hadn’t previously noticed. A voice came through a speaker, garbled with static, but still creepy. “Goodbye,” it said.
The barge exploded in a tinkling of broken glass. I could feel the heat of the fire creeping along the cold cement floor, heating it up beyond what a human could stand. The orangey glow of the flames licked ever closer. I could hear the panic behind me – there was no way out. We would all burn – a terrible death. Quick when compared to something like cancer, but agonizing anyway. I watched and listened as the flames crept ever closer…
And my eyes snapped open. My 20/300 uncorrected vision noted a strange reddish glow on the wall of my bedroom, but the comforting tangle of bodies (husband and dog – get your head out of the gutter!) told me that everything was just as it ought to be. I tried to go back to sleep – it was 4:45 am, but every time, I fell back into the same place – desperately trying to find an escape and rescue us all.
So, I’m exhausted. It’s 8:43 am on Friday, I’ve got a full day ahead of me, with no time to nap. Oh well, at least I got a blog post out of it, right? And let’s be real, I’ll use it in some story somewhere. Maybe I should go back to keeping a dream journal so I don’t forget these adventures.
I recently read about a nifty new invention. Time magazine noted that in 2011 some doctor created a machine that can lift images out of the brain and project them onto a TV screen. I’d love to have one of those to suction-cup to my head at night and record my dreams like a DVR. Then I’d just have to write them down…hubby might not find it all that sexy, though.
Today’s secret: Writing inspiration is everywhere – even in your head whilst sleeping. Take advantage.
Today’s question: Is it just us writers who dream like this? Maybe that’s why we are writers…What are your dreams like?