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Posts Tagged ‘dreams’

I’ve lived somewhere else lately, on the border between Xsardis’ illuminescent forest and a place called the 17th Realm. Both have their own kind of a magic and, I admit, I have liked my fictional reality better than the real reality around me. Not that real reality is any too shabby. Life is brimming with potential. It’s just that, the potential… well, it alarms me.

Weeks of the final push on not one but two novels (yes, that’s right. I finished another one last weekend–just five days after bidding farewell to Rise of the Dark Sprite) have necessitated a blissful break from social engagements or even checking my email. And, while I thoroughly enjoyed this creatively-mandated repose, I can’t help but feel terribly, terribly behind. So I’m back to checking my email and blogging and banking and accomplishing little and big tasks alike. I’ve got a solitary day in which I am able to work before I pack up for a long weekend in Florida to celebrate my cousin’s graduation. Florida. Sunshine. (Why, yes, it did snow last weekend on the family farm.)

Meanwhile, I’m trying to descend slowly from the mountaintop of creativity, energy, and enthusiasm that led to so much writing. (Over the week, I set a personal word count record of well-more than fifty thousand words.) After five novels, I’m pretty used to this process (including post-novel depression which is, sadly, quite real). My mind knows better than to keep spinning, trying to improve characters and clarify plots. On the other hand, my creativity–and its mighty muses–are not so sure they are ready for a break. The result? With no other outlet for the imagination, creativity strikes my dreams and makes them… strange. Like last night’s, in which I escaped a war-zone only to be dragged across the border into a cult. It was not awesome.

(Blog Bonus Feature: If no one has warned you, fellow writer, about the vividness of your dreams and their ability to grip you long past the alarm clock’s interruption, consider this your warning. Also note that the same prowess that allows you to craft realistic characters can alter your loved ones’ personalities in the dreams until they utterly terrify or excite you.)

But I digress.

Life. It’s full of potential that manages to thrill and scare me simultaneously. But what kind of adventure would life be if it didn’t? Any good roller coaster has to cause your mind to waver on the border between certainty of your demise and certainty that you will fly. As for me, I plan to fly.

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Have you ever had a slump of reading books? You have borrowed copies piling up high in your bookshelf, desk, cupboards, and eventually floors, but you still can’t force yourself to read those usually beautiful words on the page? I can’t identify why books seem to be a lost art to me, but they most certainly are.

I don’t remember ever having a slump like this before. Perhaps slumps occurred when I had nothing to read but non-fiction, but never when I have had exciting books in my possession. Really, I need to read them and give them back to their owners. But every time I open the page it seems as if they speak a different language. As if they no longer are meant for me. Even recently released books in series I love haven’t made it onto the Christmas list. I have truly and completely lost my love of reading.

Puzzling.

In the mean time my creativity, with nowhere else to visit, causes my dreams to get stranger and stranger. That horrible rendition of “I’m not going to graduate college because I forgot about one of my classes for a whole semester” felt like it lasted for more than an hour. That dream was followed by wardrobe malfunctions and surrounded by other, nastier dreams. Evidently, I need to find a positive way to release the creativity pent up inside me.

I remember falling in love with reading. It was Dickens’ fault, aided by my sister Julie who just kept pushing books my way until one stuck. Thank goodness for her. And for David Copperfield. Hours and hours of blissful escape followed, as I delved into works as weathered as Austen’s and as fresh as Riordan’s.These books taught me how to harness the imagination and their characters granted me some of my best childhood friends. So how is it possible for me to have lost the love of reading? I’m not sure, but here is the consoling and final word on the matter:

Slumps don’t last.

 

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