On Epiphanies in Dreams

The structure of a benzene molecule. The tune for “Yesterday”. DNA. Special relativity. Frankenstein. How come other people get all the inspiring dreams?

I’ve been working on my character Karen Crowley and her adventures at Willy Mac’s for four and a half years now, and I’ve only ever had two dreams about her crowd.

In one, I was back in high school, but my teacher was Karen’s teacher, Mr. Stern. And I knew it was Mr. Stern even though he didn’t look like Mr. Stern because he knew I was the writer who’d created him, but he still chewed me out for not doing my homework. And that’s the sort of guy Mr. Stern is.

“See me in my office after class,” he said. “We have something to discuss.”

Now, considering what I put him through in the stories, we have way more than something to discuss. So I was all like, “Oh hell…” and then, in that magical way dreams have of changing scenes, I was sitting in his office across the desk from him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, “but I was using your computer, and I accidentally read the second novel of our series.”

Oh. Crap. He definitely wouldn’t like the stuff going on in that one. How was I supposed to explain it was all for the good of the story? After all, he was the one who had to go through it!

And, while I was fidgeting there, already stuttering lame excuses about how plots work and the whole thing was like a biography, really, he cleared his throat.

“You know…” He hesitated. “It isn’t very good.”

He looked so anxious that I laughed and reassured him it was just a first draft, and I knew there were plenty more revisions to make.

“Well, I know you know what you’re doing,” he said. “But just try to remember, it’s our lives you’re putting out there.”

In the other dream, I was standing there watching a scene that had been giving me particular trouble, because I had three sets of characters in the same room, some unaware of the others’ presence and all in the midst of important plot points. And I was with the set of characters who were hiding in a closet, and I could see the other two groups. And they were saying their dialogue and all that, but, suddenly, I realized something was different. Something had changed completely, and now the scene was working PERFECTLY, and I had hardly noticed the change because it was just so RIGHT, and so what if it would require major rewrites of the entire series? I could do it. I HAD to remember this BRILLIANT idea, because, if I forgot it when I woke up, I’d never, ever forgive myself.

As my alarm rang, I grabbed a pen and some paper and, with great excitement, looked to the revelation I’d stored so carefully in my memory.

“MR. STERN should be a RHINOCEROS!”

I don’t think my subconscious likes me very much.