Asleep, of course, I dream I’m on a stage. I know, in the way that you can only know things in a dream, that I’m part of the performance, playing the Duke of the Night. Trouble is, I remember nothing, neither lines nor blocking. Everyone swirls around me, exasperatedly tugging at my sleeves and whispering directions.

A voluptuous woman coos at me seductively. A serious fellow in bright colors sneers at me. A small woman, really small, like 3 feet tall, gives me a, “tsk, tsk.” One woman slinks around dressed as a cat. Finally, a lovely young maid sweeps me into a graceful waltz around the stage.

Awake, more or less, I write most of this down. I happen upon some applicable symbolism. And voila, I’m writing a rather lengthy short story…or maybe a diminutive novella. But the thing is, I’m writing again. I hadn’t really written anything worth spitting on in 4 or 5 years. I haven’t stopped yet, writing two sequels and then starting a full-size novel. And it’s fun! I’m writing! Thanks to a dream.