The Writing Equation:
Five minutes of imagining scenes of your novel in progress while in bed = roughly thirty thousand words and ten days of writing.
That’s how it feels to me.
Your experience may vary.
The Airplane Crash Dream
I was on a large, modern aircraft filled with people. We were going on a long flight.
After takeoff, I was taken to the cockpit. It was airy and spacious. Windows showed the air around us but I could also see the planet below. It was a bright, beautiful day, with a few high clouds. Very cool.
I was told that I’d been selected to monitor the flight. Didn’t need to do anything; just be there.
Well, I could do that! It felt like some kind of honor. I settled into a chair and my role. The flight progressed…
Then, I was awakening on the flight deck. Klaxons were blaring. I could tell from perspective and angles, we were MUCH lower. I thought, oh my God, we’re going to crash. And I’m going to be in so much trouble.
Then I was irritated because, why didn’t someone already respond, come up, and take over. Then I thought about pulling on the controls and trying to take us to a higher flight level.
I thought, ARE YOU NUTS? Don’t touch the controls. You might make it worse.
Then, in a weird dream shift, I was on the ground at the airport, in the working part of the airport, waiting for the plane to craft, fretting about the trouble I was going to be in. I ran into a friend who was on the flight; he was worried about being in trouble, too.
We had to keep moving to stay out of the airport workers’ way. My friends explained that there were five of us in positions like me, people who were supposed to be watching things, so there was trouble to go around. At the same time, the people who were supposed to be on the job were not, so they would also be in trouble.
Exactly, I agreed.
Meanwhile, a young female set up equipment on a table not far from us. She was going to monitor the aircraft’s progress from there because they might need to blow it up. She was busy and couldn’t explain more about this process.
Then I heard others saying, “Look, what’s that?”
I went out. They were pointing up. The sky was blue but a bright white fireball was going across it.
That’s the jet, I thought. Then I thought, but that could be a meteor. Or a comet or asteroid.
Then I thought, wait: how am I on the ground, waiting for the plane to crash? That didn’t make sense.
I then went back in and decided to change clothes so I could walk around more. Then I thought, how do I have my clothes on the ground with me if we’re waiting for the aircraft to crash? How did we all get off the aircraft, if it’s still flying?
That didn’t make any sense.
Dream end.
NOTE: When I wrote up this dream this morning, I saw how much of it paralleled what I was going through with writing. I set aside “Unfocused” after several drafts to let it cool, get some distance. Then I began working on “A Tribe Called Death”. As I hit page 70, I was frantic because that novel took some weird turns and left me flailing about where to go, what to do.
I calmed myself: hey, this is the first draft, nimrod. Just write. And by the end of the day, a character had taken a position and showed me the way. I think the dream reflected that whole process, in its own way.
The Writing Moment
Finished the latest revision of the novel in progress. “Unfocused”. Ended with 402 pages. 74K words. What was that, number five?
Am I happy? Satisifed?
I don’t know.
It feels good. It feels bad.
I’m breathing. Sighing. Wondering. Pondering.
And I’m hungry. As always, it’s the end, or the beginning of the end, which means it’s a beginning or a beginning of another beginning.
That’s the writer life.
The Party Bathroom Dream
I was young again – LOL – but middle-aged, and part of this large celebration.
Held outside, in a large green park, the party was to celebrate the birthday of someone famous. I have no idea who. Tables the length of football fields, covered in white tablecloths, set with dishware, china, and silverware, lined the park’s perimeter. Terrific food, cakes, sandwiches, veggies.
There were also numerous river-rock buildings which looked like shelters. These turned out to be restrooms.
Strangely, that’s where most of the dream focused: the bathrooms. I needed to use the restroom and spent my time dashing around, looking for one that was available. As I did, the Bob Seger song, “Shame on the Moon”, would play off and on. I mostly heard, “Oh, blame it on midnight.”
My friends found this hilarious. No one was in a uniform but people I worked with in the military were present, sitting in chairs in one section.
What I found as I searched for a restroom was that all of them were in use, and there were lines of others waiting.
I raced around, stunned at this problem, thinking, there must be a restroom I can use.
Thinking I found one, to my relief, I went in and discovered that it was set up as little barbershop. While I wondered, “WTH,” one of my friends called out with laughter, “Don’t even think about going there, Seidel.”
I flipped him the bird.
An announcement was made. Everyone was asked to take their seats. Miss Shirley Bassey was going to sing for the guest of honor.
I made my way across the grass toward a table.
Dream end.
The Writing Moment
I’m progressing through another revising/editing pass on my latest manuscript. I’m on page 70 so it looks at first glance that it’s been slow progress. But I’ve cut sixty pages.
Makes me laugh that I’ve cut that much, but I had a lot of background/collateral stuff in the ms. Now that I fully understand the story, I’m slicing away.
Painful, though. Each time I open a chapter and begin reading, I follow with a wince. *smile* Then I pull out the scalpel. I hope it’ll all be worthwhile by the time I reach ‘the end’…
Again.
The Writing Moment
Breathe in, breathe out.
Sip coffee. Sit. Stare.
Contemplate.
Finished the second pass of the novel in progress, Unfocused. Six zillion words.
Naw. Just felt like it. Only 101K. 485 pages in MS Word.
The usual wars go on in me: finished. Feels good. Is it any good?
What shall I do now?
By that last, I mean, do another editing/revision pass or work on submitting it somewhere.
Other concepts call. A Tribe Called Death is eager to be written. Multitudes.
So, I sit. Sip coffee. Stare.
Contemplate.
Wait for a sign from the coffee shop.
Four Microdreams
I had a series of flash microdreams last night.
In the first, I was editing/revising my manuscript, Unfocused. I awoke confused whether I’d been awake or asleep. Falling back asleep, I experienced the novel as a movie.
Another microdream slipped in. I reached for a green glass tumbler which had water in it. When I tasted it, it was coffee, but it stayed clear.
A man asked me to marry him. Then I thought it was me asking him. Then I thought, I’m both men.
Then I ate a chocolate chip muffin from a tray. Finishing it, I wanted more.
End
The Brown Cougar Dream
My wife and I arrived at a resort hotel, meeting our friend, Bob and his wife. Real-life note: this is not the same Bob from my previous dreams, but a friend and co-worker from my military days. The wife in this dream wasn’t his real-life wife.
Bob, who was prematurely bald, had thick black in the dream. My wife and I had just arrived. Bob and his wife came by to greet us and make plans.
I noticed some filth on the ceiling. It disgusted me so I looked for something to clean it up. I found some spray and sprayed it all over but then needed a ladder and rag. A young hotel worker asked me what I was doing. I explained myself. He shook his head and reassured me, “Don’t worry about it, we have it covered. It’s not your problem.”
I went back into the room and noticed the spray had already made the ceiling mess almost invisible.
Bob and I ended up outside, where it was like a desert after a rainstorm. He was carrying a young animal he’d rescued. Noticing a young brown cougar down the hill, I followed behind Bob to protect him from the cougar and found a large stick to use as a weapon.
Waiting on a porch for Bob’s return, I saw the cougar watching me. As that registered, the cougar approached. Raising the stick, I yelled and made myself big.
Sitting down, the cougar asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m making myself big and making noises to scare you away.”
The cougar chuckled. “Did you really think that was going to work?”
“That’s what they tell us to do.”
“Anyway, you’re safe for now,” the cougar said, “but you scheduled to die tomorrow, and I’ll eat you.”
I was appalled and vowed not to let that happen.
The cougar shrugged. “It’s going to happen. It’s on the schedule.” He indicated a bright pink and blue poster. I read the poster but saw nothing about my death on it.
Back in the hotel room, I showered and cleaned up. Bob came by to see if I was ready. I told him that I needed to shower. I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower and then realized, what am I doing? I already showered.
I was now naked downstairs and needed to up to my room. Entering the stairwell, I caught a reflection of myself and found I was astonishingly good-looking — much younger, lean and muscular, with a thick head of dark brown hair swept to one side. As I started up the steps, a young woman entered.
“Eek,” she said, pretending to turn away. Covering her face with a hand, she looked at me between her fingers. “A naked man.”
I laughed and apologized, continuing up the steps, and encountered another woman. “Locked out without your clothes?” she mused.
“Yes, that’s what happened.”
She chuckled. “We’ve all been there.”
Now dressed, I joined Bob and our wives in another area of the resort. I saw the brown cougar in the crowd, watching me. I realized that I’d forgotten something in the room and needed to go back. Bob drew up a complex map, showing me where we were and how to get back to my room, 1004, at the top of the building. Although his map was detailed, I felt bewildered and said, “I’ll never find my way back through that maze.”
Bob said, “Alright, let me go with you, at least part of the way, until you know where you’re at.”
Dream end.
Bob and the House: Just Dreaming
My dream patterns have been disrupted. I dreamed but remembered little for several days. In fact, the only thing remembered for three days in a row was a friend’s appearance. Each night featured a snippet of Bob showing up.
In the first dream, I was busy with something, looked up, and saw Bob walking toward me. I said, “Hey, there’s Bob.” Bob walked past me without saying anything. I mused, “I wonder where Bob’s going.”
In the second and third dreams, each on separate nights, I saw Bob approaching. “Hey, there’s Bob.” Both these times ended up with Bob walking up to me but not speaking as the dream memory ended.
I told Bob about that last night. He responded, “Boy, I’d really like to explore that more.”
Meanwhile, I have a full and sharp memory of a dream from last night. I was at a house with my wife and familiars who may have been cousins. I think it was a wealthy aunt’s house. The resident was gorgeous, a place that celebrated wealth and luxury.
Yet, as I walked around, I noticed horrible details: toilets were full of urine and toilet paper. Showers were filthy with mold. They had a huge, beautiful driveway made of brick and cut stones, but a grimy black layer covered much of it.
Appalled, I began looking for cleaning supplies to address these things. Doing so, I opened cupboards, drawers, and closets. Supplies were found in chaotic piles. Separating pieces, I found rags, sponges, and cleaners.
My wife came by and asked, “What are you doing?” I explained, showing her the filthy toilets and showers, then took her out to the driveway.
As I talked about the driveway to my wife, I noticed a young woman cleaning part of the driveway with a pressure washer. Interrupting her work, I clarified what she was doing and then asked her to wash some of the black off another part. She responded, “I’m not supposed to work on that part.”
I said, “Can you do me a favor and wash it off a little so I can confirm what’s under it?”
She did, confirming what I thought. I showed my wife and remembered, “This part is really bad because they used to have an RV parked here. I’m going to get a power washer and clean it off.”
That’s where the dream ended.
The Writing Moment
I’m revising and editing the novel in progress, “Unfocused”. This pass is for understanding, coherency, continuity. More planned passes will address line edits and polishing. I do address egregious issues whenever I encounter them but improving mechanics and refinement isn’t my current focus.
It goes well but it’s not an even tide. Most chapters are broken into six to ten numbered sections. It fascinates me is how well I remember writing passages and yet they seem like foreign lands. Distinct memories of decisions and progressions are encountered. When I wrote the novel, I sometimes wasn’t satisfied with a chapter and decided to get out of my way, just get it all down, go on, and return to it during revisions. Chapters also exist where I worked them and worked them until they satisfied the writer of that day and I was content to move on.
How I addressed the chapters and sections show. Revision for one rushed chapter consumed an entire week, developing into a sequence of revising and editing. Sometimes several passes of a section were done in one day. More than once, I walked away to think and digest what was and wasn’t working and where changes were needed. Those breaks always helped.
Other days — yesterday, for instance — I swept through one entire chapter in one two-hour session and walked away pleased. It all varies.
Now, back to editing and revising “Unfocused”, 536 pages long, resuming at page 246.
Michael Seidel, writer 