Dreams don't work the way I want them to.
For the last couple nights, I've been dreaming that I got picked up by a major publisher, and I felt light and strong and perhaps even validated.
Unfortunately, I know why the dreams occurred, and it wasn't because of precognition. I'd been working all weekend in moulage, and that's a very visible thing to be working on, and I got a lot of compliments on it. That translated in my dreams to getting recognition in my other life.
Dreams pick up little fragments of real life and sort them out in a peculiar way. I've read that we don't dream of anything we haven't encountered in real life. From my experiences, I don't believe that unless I've been in a large underground city whose corridors walled in white glossy formica, accessible by a basement door in an old hunting lodge with a kitchen with avocado appliances.
I interpret my dreams, usually by a Gestalt method, telling the story from the viewpoint of each significant object (human or non) in the dream. What happened in the interpretation of the dream of the hunting lodge became the first draft of my first novel, the one I struggle to re-edit, Gaia's Hands.
The dream of getting published is easier to interpret: I want to get published. I figure it will be as satisfying as moulaging. I can't wait to get started.
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