A Writer’s Dream
My daily life is chaotic and stressful to say the least. Sometimes I fear I won’t make it to bedtime before I collapse. There are other times when I don’t want the day to end. The great thing about this kind of life is that it often gives me something to write about. Over the last few weeks I’ve dreamed about my writing career. Trust me when I tell you that nothing in this dream came from my daily life.
Before I share the dream, let me clarify that it is purely a dream. I realize there are very few Janet Evanovichs, James Pattersons, Dean Koontzs, or Laurell K. Hamiltons. That level of success in the writing industry is rare. I am aware that I should seek publication first and worry about a paycheck from my words of wisdom much further down the line.
I was standing there leaping up and down like a Kindergarten student who needs to go potty or some sugar buzzed ADHD poster child wanting attention. “What is wrong with these people?” I muttered to myself as I looked at the large cardboard boxes filled with copies of my books that needed to be loaded into my silver Mercedes Benz. None of my neighbors would stop to help me no matter how hard I tried to flag them down as they drove past me.
Once again I was running fashionably late for another book signing at Books-A-Million. It was the man-servant’s day off and I had to decide how to get the books loaded without scratching the car or getting scuff marks on my brand new designer shoes. The high-heeled shoes did not match my outfit of blue jeans paired with a simple silk blouse at all but I didn’t seem to notice. I placed two of the heavy boxes into the truck of my car and proceeded to enter the car so I could drive off to the book signing. As I pulled my left leg into the car I failed to lift it high enough for the heel of my shoe to clear the bottom of the door opening. Off went the heel of the designer shoe and blood started to spew all over the floor of the car even though I had not pierced my skin at all. “HELP! Somebody help me!” I screamed.
A very handsome male model came to my rescue. He was carrying a pair of hiking boots with him that just happened to be exactly my size. He slipped my foot out of the broken shoe and started to stroke the shoe as if it was a kitten or pup. Out of thin air he pulled out a roll of paper towels and blotted up the blood that had pooled around my feet in the floor of the Mercedes. Lovingly, he then slipped my right foot out of the other designer shoe and helped me place each of my feet into the hiking boots. As I pulled away from the mansion, I could see him cradling the broken shoe as he walked away from the main house and into a field of wild flowers.
As I neared Books-A-Million I could see a crowd gathered at the front door. Men in business suits were sipping on Slurpees and women in everyday household attire were sipping their Starbucks coffee. All of the people there were watching every vehicle that pulled into the parking lot as if they were waiting for their favorite movie star to arrive so they could catch a glimpse of her.
It was a long and exhausting book signing. Everyone who arrived wanted an autograph on a copy of my latest best seller. I had to stop signing books when two of my fingers actually broke off of my right hand and a couple of computer geeks started to fight over who would get to keep them. As I sat there trying to decide how to hide the fact that I was missing fingers, one of the geeks jumped up and yelled out, “Holy crap! I’ll make a bundle from this on EBay! Can you autograph this?”
My Thoughts about the Dream
I guess as writers we all have a need inside of us to be recognized, to gain fame and fortune, and have at least one best seller to our credit at some point. We all have to believe that what we write might be of interest to readers. Maybe the shoes in the dream represent my determination to move forward and breaking the heel was an obstacle or determent to reaching my goal?
I’ve tried very hard not to be apologetic about my writing even when it brings a tear to someone’s eye or makes someone burst out laughing and wake up everybody in their house late at night. I’ve finally gotten over my fear of rejection and I submit, submit, and submit! Maybe the male model was my concept of perfection sometimes taken to the extreme and expecting too much of myself and others?
Maybe my dream is trying to tell me that I’m working too hard and need to make sure other parts of my life have a chance to live. Am I using too much energy on my writing and allowing my faith, my humor, my passion, and simple pleasures to slowly fade into the sunset?
This particular dream causes me to wake up feeling as if I need to change my outlook on my life and my career goals. For now, I am going to keep forging ahead with my goals of being published more often and eventually making it to the New York Time’s bestseller list. Oh, and just in case that male model happens to show up here with or without shoes, I may be AWOL for a while. I just thought I should give you prior warning. A girl can’t work all the time without taking time to play a bit!
© Dianna Doles-Petry
July 2, 2010