I don’t like to talk about it, because it’s hard to imagine it going anywhere, but I’m making a serious stab at writing a novel. I try to get in a page every couple of days. Progress is slow. There’s only so much time a guy can spend on non-paying personal projects, of which I have more than my share. But whatever rewards emerge or fail to emerge in the indeterminate future, there has been a surprise benefit: really cool dreams.
I used to have these epic, cinematic dreams all the time. Spaceships, monsters, ancient civilizations, walking on water, all kinds of cool stuff. For the last several years I’ve hardly had any. it made me wonder if my imagination was drying up, something I’ve always feared. But wrestling with this story I’m writing on a regular basis seems to have brought them back. I’ve had three in the last week or so. A giant grinding necropolis in space, a ghost-hunting operation, a trio of shape-shifting monsters.
It gives me hope.
