Ever since I can remember my sleeping nights have been filled with a wide variation of dreams. Some of them are linked to people I’ve met, or places I’ve visited. Some are disjointed and jump from one unlinked scenario to another. Occasionally I dream about people I have never met. On holiday I dreamt that I met up with online friend and Rainstorm author, Tammy Maas. As usual it felt so real, we were at a writers’ conference, she wore a red dress and spoke with a deep southern drawl (not sure she’d be too happy about the last bit as she is from Iowa!). It made me chuckle so much that when I returned from my hols I had to send her a message about it.
Apart from a small handful, most dreams disappear on wakening, banished to depths of my sub conscious memory, and those that are left soon follow suit. For some people their dreams can become quite lucrative. Many films and books have been inspired this way – we’ve all heard about Stephanie Meyer whose initial idea for the Twilight Saga was inspired from a dream. Sadly, all my story ideas have derived from hours scratching my head and rubbing my chin. Shame really.
Over the last week I’ve experienced a large number of ‘bad’ dreams: those where you wake up bathed in a hot sweat, switch on the light and breathe deeply to calm your ragged nerves. The last time I had a run of bad dreams I was researching the background and psyche of serial killers. Quite understandable really. But not this time. Considering my preference for crime fiction and thrillers, most of my sleeping hours are filled with amusing or nonsensical dreams.