But my subconscious doesn’t trust me. It doesn’t seem to think I’m smart enough to figure things out on my own.
Sometime in the wee hours last night I dreamed about a hornet. And a couple carpenter ants. And some earwigs. In the dream I’d moved some books and they all came out. They were crawling on me trying to sting and bite and I was madly trying to get them off me.
You know how nightmares go. When you describe something in the daylight after the fact, the dream sounds silly and you wonder why you were so scared. But during the dream you’re terrified.
My subconscious, though, didn’t seem to care that I was in the throes of panic trying to get the hornet off my arm.
Get this. In the middle of the dream, a, calm voice intrudes and says ‘this is what your character needs to feel right now’.
Geez. Even in my dreams I’m thinking about writing.
So now the tea is cold and my fingertips are numb because I’ve been madly typing for the past three hours.
I’m so glad my subconscious is smarter than me.