Tag: writing anxiety

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.

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T&A

Yes, it’s my day’s T&A moment. I’m at the coffee shop. Have my QSM (quad shot mocha for the novices). The computer is back, up and running. Time to write like crazy.

But T&A haunt me. Trepidation that I won’t be able to pick up and write either NIP (novel in progress, for the uninitiated – I was a military zombie in a previous thread of this life, and we like acronyms). I’ve been away from them for almost three weeks. Anxiety that writer’s block will strike, that my writing spirit has been consumed by zombie lethargy, is riding me hard. (See, that’s the T&A for those who like more directness – Trepidation & Anxiety.)

So I’m sortofkindaalittlebit putting it off. Sipping mocha. Observing the coffee shop’s fauna and flora. Eavesdropping on loud talkers. Admiring the mountains out the windows. Waiting for magic to scar my forehead and power me into action.

But after a time of it, of walking the forest of what could go wrong, what will go wrong, of facing a fear that opening my writing will reveal a hack — you know, standard writer angst — I take a deep breath and move the mouse.

No matter what’s in there or what happens, there must be a beginning.

Time to begin.

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Sour Grapes, Writing Ed.

Yeah, it’s like, bleah. Like work. Ugh.

Published Road Lessons with Savanna this week. It acquired the attention an elephant bestows on an ant. Anxiety and conflicts arise. Depression. Acceptance, the need to be patient, the requirement to market the book. It takes time, I tell myself, and scream back, “Time? Time?” Because time, you know, stirs fear, impatience, anxieties, as I await time’s passage. Time can be a right cruel bully.

That’s my background moodiness as I return to copy-editing Everything Not Known today. A quarter million words, seven hundred plus pages. I have completed editing on seven chapters. 21,000 words.

Oh, boy. This is going to take forever.

Forever? Could you be exaggerating?

Trying to encourage myself, I say, “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”

“Shut up, you moron,” I answer. “Keep your platitudes to yourself.”

I enjoy the novel, which is good, happy news, even, as it was written with me in mind as the audience. That’s the only audience I understand, so I kowtow to me and my taste. I’ve tried writing and editing to others’ preferences but their guidance, feedback, and input, is confusing and conflicting. So, responding with great insight and maturity, I replied, “Whatever,” and write for myself.

The snarky corner of me notes with withering contempt, “Who do you expect to read your book if you write if for yourself, you marketing moron?”

Ready for that query, I tell myself, “Good to hell.” So there.

Enjoying the novel does help copy-editing it, but this isn’t my favorite pastime, so I chaff, complain and offer childish whines about what I’m doing and most do. Intellectually, I know, yeah, this must be done, and this, too, shall pass, and other pithy, worn encouraging sentiments. Intellectually, I can see into myself and see all the nuances of living and existing irritating me and the ridiculousness of my complaints.Intellectually, I know enough of myself to know it’s part of my cycles of spirit, attitudes and emotions to drift into the dark side. I know I’ll emerge from it in a few days.

Intellectually, I know it’s all human nature.

Intellectually, I still tell myself to go to hell. Then I drink the coffee, take a deep breath, and play a game.

Then I go to work.

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