Reading, Writing and Dreaming

I have missed reading so much. But one of the things about reading that I forgot was that it can take you away into a whole new world that washes away any care for the real one. Not that I have stopped operating altogether. I am still managing to get up every day and write, and feed the kids and send them to school. But every chance I get I am picking up the book and disappearing into someone else’s world for a time.

Here is the current state of my bedside table, or at least how it looked yesterday morning. The pile of books I have purchased or borrowed over the last few months but too busy editing to read.

And then there is my current library book.

I am attending a workshop at the end of the month and wanted to read something of the author that I will be working with. Then a supposed friend, who came around last night arrived with three more books (they aren’t included in the photo). I have actually started a second pile. And I’m living in fear of passing a bookshop in case I feel the pull of another novel.

This reading is also feeding my creativity. It is certainly helping with some small problems I am having with my fantasy novel. The story is there but I am unsure about the best way to tell it. I am very comfortable with the first person, but not really sure if this is the best way to tell this story.

Part of the joy of a first draft is that I can do what I want with it. So as well as playing with different ideas, some scenes are in first person, some in third person, some in present tense and some in past tense. As I go I think it will work itself out what is best for the story and I can adjust the rest in the next draft.

And my vivid dreams are back. I had the rare opportunity to sleep in this morning, partly why this blog post is late, and I woke feeling both excited and scared. It was unlike anything I had dreamt before and very dark. The images have haunted me all day, and I have struggled to remember small parts that are no longer clear, such as conversations and instructions being screamed over the crash of waves. But some details that seemed small and insignificant at the time are more prominent now as I try to relive it.

A small white house in the distance sparked something later this afternoon. I have dreamt of it before. And in a very different story, with very different characters but it was the same house in the same place, with the same setting.

So as unsettling as the dream was, the house is calling for me to write it. It may be the place that needs to be written.

I wish I had whole days to write and read uninterrupted...but for the moment I am going to have to continue working out how to fit everything together. I think my best option is to try to go to sleep tonight thinking about my little house and see what happens next...

Happy Scribbling