Dream-Sequence, Or, A Lesson in Madness

Although dreams can occasionally frighten us, confound us, or startle us, though they bring out our worst social fears, or make us wonder whether we really are as sane as we assumed, there is one purpose for which dreams hold a continual charge. Never mind about analysing your dreams; sometimes they are best in their raw, emotion-filled, bizarre state. So it has been for ages past.

Dreams are a great source of inspiration.

Yes; from foretelling catastrophic events to revealing inner secrets, dreams have a long-established power upon the human understanding, coming as they do from the human imagination.

Just think, if you were given a space in which to tell stories wholly uninhibited by rational censors--

Well. Each night, each dream, is that space.

Here is an exercise:

1) Dream.

2) Without thinking too much about it, write it down. Don't worry if some of the details vanish into that black hole of oblivion, somewhere between the dreaming-consciousness, and the waking-consciousness. Neither should you be afraid to go back to your notebook and add details as they occur to you throughout the day.

3) Keep the journal handy; when you think of story ideas (when they spontaneously pop into your head, that is) write them down in this journal as well. For dreams, and story ideas, come from the same place--the more liberty you allow them to grow, the better they will turn out. When the story, like the dream, takes off by itself, that is the first step to writing well--semi-consciousness.

Take note of any recurring themes, symbols, or situations. If you truly think you may need help, perhaps a call to the psychiatrist helpline is in order. If not, analysing dreams can not only spur your writing, but help you to sort out your life.

And that is altogether a win-win situation.


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Soon to be Seen, or, Next Thought

An essay on dream-interpretation

Storytelling, Or, Best-Laid Plans &tc &tc

There is an exercise employed, so I am told, by the great masters of the classics...one can see them, sitting around their café table (round, naturally: there is no hierarchy of creativity), sipping espresso or wine with impressionistic delight...one says to the others, 'Yesterday, I saw a duck with green spots on its back.'
'Really? And so?'

And so it begins. A story unfolds, tossed about by one of the artists with compelling skill--something heartbreaking, absurd, reflective. 'Yes, perhaps,' says the first, 'But actually, I believe what happened is this:' And he presents a story a little pithier, a little funnier, a little heavier, than his comrade's. Each takes a single image, and elaborates upon it, adding depth and the various exquisitries of his own wit, until it has spiralled out of control--the duck is no longer just a duck, but a hero, the spots the evidence of its remarkable passion, search for justice, fatal flaw.

At the end of the morning (or afternoon, or evening--this game can take place at any time, on any day), the masters bid each other good-day; they part, congenially, each taking up the thread of the story they have broidered in his own mind.

An ancient pursuit, and a thrilling one. It pulls past belief, into mythology; mythology is what we, as humans need in all times, in all circumstances.


(N.B. I had intended this post to be about Joan Aiken, but was diverted. Watch for next time: a review of Joan Aiken's book on Writing for Children)