The Pants Dream

Yep, here we go, another pants dream.

It began with being at work. I was settling into a new place. It was an open work space. The CEO, who seemed to like me a great deal, was showing me around the place and introducing me to others.

He showed me my work space. Big desk, computer, etc., off to one side of everyone else, besides some steps that went up to a loft area where there were more work spaces. After he told me my assignments, he left. I got to work and finished very quickly. I then began hunting something else to do. Walking around the place, I had a sense that I didn’t belong. After a bit of that, I ventured to visit with the CEO to express that.

Busy with clients, he couldn’t see me right then, but I told his assistant that I didn’t think I was the right fit. She told me not to do anything, be patient, and she’d pass the message on, and then the CEO would speak with me.

I told another friendly co-worker that I didn’t think I fit. He tried to convince me that I did, but really lacked any solid points.

My wife arrived to see if I could go to lunch. Yes, I could, but I needed to change my clothes. I was in shorts. Thinking myself underdressed, I wanted to put on pants.

I’d brought some pants with me to the office. The first pair were dirty, so I didn’t try them on. I had fewer pants than I expected, and than spent some time looking for more. It came down to two pairs of pants. One fit perfectly but wasn’t a style or color that I liked because they were too different. White, tight, with narrow legs, they had diagonal black stripes. I was surprised that they were mine. The next pair were too large but I liked the style. I realized, though, since the first pair fit, I could put them on, and then wear the second pair of pants over them. Then I found a favorite shirt and put that on.

That combination seemed to work. I spent some time walking around, trying that out, verifying that I could move comfortably, and watching others’ reactions. I thought that others admired how I looked. Coming down the stairs from the loft, I saw a reflection of myself, and thought, yes, I look good.

I then left. It was lightly sprinkling outside. The CEO was at a table with clients under an awning. He called me over and introduced me to them, enthusing about me, which embarrassed me. I left to meet my wife.

There was a row of stores and cafes. She was supposed to be waiting for me outside. I figured that since I’d taken so long, she’d probably gone on to a store to kill time. I would check them until I found her.

I was checking the first one when she came in, finding me. As we were talking, she was telling me that she’d run into one of my new co-workers. As she was telling me that, he came in and asked  if he could join us for lunch. We said, sure, and went off.

Later (with a dreamshift), my wife had gone. It was growing darker, with daylight fading and lights coming on. My co-worker and I were walking back toward the business. As we were, we saw a party going on and remembered that it was an office party. He went right up and in, urging me to follow. I declined. He said he was just stopping for a few minutes. I decided that I’d wait outside, just past the entrance, and leaned back against the wall.

The party broke up a short time later. My co-worker came out. He joined me, chatting, asking me why I hadn’t gone inside. I told him that I didn’t think that I belonged. As we were talking, another co-worker was striding by below us. Seeing us, he came up the steps and handed me a cup.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s for you,” he answered.

“Why?”

“I thought you needed it, and wanted to give it to you.”

I felt flattered that he’d thought of me, and thanked him. He left. As he did, my friend and I began to walk. I drank from the cup that’d been given to me and discovered it was strong, sweet tea. It tasted wonderful. I began thinking, maybe I do belong here.

The dream ended.

One More Time

I was frothing with surprise and delight for a while today.

The morning’s email brought interest from three agents. They wanted to see more material from April Showers 1921, a surprise. I thought that all interest from the first round of submissions had died (accomplished in October, 2019). I was regrouping for another round of submissions.

I also thought how odd it was that these agent things happen in clumps. But then, I submit in clumps, and the agents describe similar processes and response times. It shouldn’t be a surprise when they respond in clumps.

What WAS a surprise was an agent expressing interest in Four on Kyrios, the first novel of the Incomplete States series (five books). I submitted to her in February, 2019, ten months ago.

(A pause to consider that I’d finished writing a five novel series last year (Incomplete States, 430,000 words), and then wrote a novel earlier this year (April Showers 1921, 180,000 words), and now I’m finishing a third book (To Begin, 73,000 words so far). And yes, that does please me. Plodding along at about five pages a day does start adding up. Especially when I remember that Incomplete States and all of its support documents (side stories, character, planet, and cultural histories, etc) added up to one million words.)

Although it’s exciting to receive the emails from the agents, after reflecting, I thought, well, I’ll do my writing session today, and then try to respond to these agents tonight. I wasn’t being contrary or sabotaging myself, but in thinking through where I was and who I am, I enjoy the writing process, I’m enjoying writing the current novel, and I have momentum. (The muses are being friendly and I don’t want to alienate them.) So, although my goal is to find publication for those previously written novels, writing the current novel entices me more.

It’s a curious sensation. Yeah, I seek publication beyond the self-publishing of the four novels that I’ve already done. The agent interest is validation, in one sense; someone is interested! In another sense, I shrug; I’ve always written for myself, creating mysteries and logic problems for me to solve, building and expanding worlds in my mind, and discovering characters who emerge as people to me.

I’m also a tinge jaded, reconciling myself, yeah, you’ve been shown interest by agents and editors before, and it’s come to naught. (Really, are you so cynical, Michael?)

Yes, I am. More than cynicism, in the course of writing novels and following a quest to be a better thinker, story-teller, and writer, I’ve fallen out of concern about what others think about my writing. I can argue that some of that is self-preservation (and perhaps a tincture of imposter syndrome). See, if I don’t get excited, then I’ll be less dejected if the agents decline my project. That’s the theory.

It’s also short-sighted; being in a bubble of my own thinking, reading, writing, and criticism means that I don’t receive feedback that could help me grow.

Yes, true.

So, being cynical, jaded, short-sighted, and dubious, writing, with all of its challenges and frustrations, is more immediately rewarding and satisfying. Solving these self-made issues generates a sweet dopamine infusion. Perhaps that’s the lesson — and warning — that I should really find in my response today: I’m a writing addict, looking for a quick fix.

Today’s news does want me to treat myself to a scone or muffin. Comfort food, I believe, to help cope; the potential for advancing also carries the angst and burden of failure. Have something to eat, right? It’s a humorous pattern.

Yet, again…there was that time when I came across a woman reading my novel at a Starbucks here in my town, a cool experience. I’ve received feedback from readers about how my they’ve enjoyed something I’ve written, which was a powerful jolt to the ego. Multiple those intangible rewards by the potential that being published on a larger scale could bring.

Also in passing, though, I do enjoy reading my own work. It’s fun to read what I’ve written, and it often surprises me. I understand what that says about my process and being in the tube. What was originally conceived and written (in my methodology) frequently evolves under editing, revising, refinement, and polishing. I write to know what I think, and I rewrite to clarify it and deal with loopholes in my thinking (and plotting and problem solving).

As a final piece, of course; this is me, today. Me, tomorrow, or yesterday — or even later today — might respond differently. Moods (and the hopes and expectations related to them) are dynamic. Hence, I needed to write all of this out just to think about it, a prelude, perhaps, to discovering how I feel.

Well, it’s all thinking fodder. Got my coffee. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Got to feed that addiction, you know?

 

 

That Damn Dream

Had another one of those damn depressing dreams again where I was in the military. I’d been out, now I was back in.

It was just in time for a military parade and change-of-command ceremony. We were dressing in our Class A, or what is also called our service dress uniforms. I was behind, behind in knowing what to do, where to go, and when to be there. My hair was shaggy and needed to be trimmed to mil standards. I was racing to get my uniform pressed and check on my fruit salad, and worrying that my uniform was still in reg. Then I didn’t know where to go. I was running behind and people were both giving me grief and being supportive.

But they were leaving because it was time to assemble until I was alone, still scrambling. I still had to much to do, racing through a shower, getting the uniform on, and then checking the hair on my neck. You can bet, on reflection, I found it ironic that I was back in the military for a change-of-command ceremony. Changes are needed, I’m telling myself, or you’ll be exposed!

So much anxiety in that dream, a perfect exposure of the imposter syndrome.

Damn.

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