Dreams, A Writer's Resource
Choose an entry from your dream journal and build it into an episode that is comprehensible without sacrificing its dreamlike qualities. If scenes shifted without any logical connection, then try to emulate those scene shifts in your episode. Also, pay attention to irrational juxtapositions of objects. The idea here is to allow object which, in the waking world, have no logical connection with each other.
I have had a recurring dream since I was little. It takes place in Newfoundland. Come to think of it, I haven't had the dream in some time, but I will never forget it. I often wonder if it's true, but when you read it you will see that that isn't likely. But you never know. Newfoundlanders are quite superstitious. In all of my dreams, I am outside myself, much as I would be if I was watching my dreams as a movie. I am sure that must mean something in terms of dream interpretation - on the outside always looking in? Or I am able to view my life from an outside perspective because it's too scary to actually live it? That's not true. My life is hardly scary. I remember that my mother told me she took me to Newfoundland when I was about one. My grandfather was still alive, I think. He died shortly after. From what I hear, my mother and I were alone as my father was home working. Also, when I learned to walk, I was hell with feet. I didn't sit down to save anyone's life. I was off like a shot.
Perhaps this isn't even a dream, but I remember it as one.
Teetering on not quite broken in feet, the tot wrestled her way up the bank. The path was narrow and riddled with rocks and moss. Stability was not something she had in any sort of abundance and stability was what was needed to maneuver this path. The path was a maze to a one-year old new on her feet.
Once she started to move forward, it was difficult to stop. Even if she ran into things, she would get up and continue or turn and go in a less obstructed way. More than once she would run away from her mother. Not necessarily because she wanted to be clear from the woman, but because once she started running, there was no stopping her. The internal magnet made her feet move her forward to an unknown point.
The point tonight was the top of the path.
The ocean purred in the distance as it quietly lapped against the jagged shore. The night was calm and the moon shown on the pristine blackness of the water visible as far as the eye could see.
Rugged houses weathered by the austere sea stood against the elements built with care into the peat-lined hillsides, nestled carefully against boulders and rocky crags as if for protection.
The well-worn path let to the blueberries, to the capelin cove and to trout fishing pond. Villagers used it daily. The tot used it this night.
Running up the path she knew not where she was headed, but her feet were carrying her like a drunk sailor on his way home along the peat lined path. She could hear her mother in the background shouting after her and she laughed out loud, the giggle breaking against the lapping waves.
In the path attached to nothing.
And a knock from the other side of it.
The tot stopped abruptly and stared at the door. It seemed out of place even for a toddler not yet familiar with doors and their whereabouts. Her breath caught up with her and her feet stopped three feet from the door on the path without any context.
She could hear her mother calling her from behind her on the path and she could hear her labored breathing as she struggled to catch her.
The door opened and she saw a creature she had only heard about in fairy tales. A hairy werewolf-like creature standing erect in front her in the frame of the open door. She gasped. Her mother came from behind her and grabbed her in the scoop of her arm around her waist. Her feet dangled in the air and tried running, but feet need ground to accomplish that feat.
The tot doesn't remember if her mother said anything to her, but the creature knew the tot's name and said it out loud. The creature extended a hand to her. Her mother looked at the creature before turning to run down the hill. The tot was unable to look back to see if they were being pursued, but they arrived home safely.
The incident wasn't mentioned to anyone and the child didn't think to share the story.
This is a recurring dream, or an actual event. I find it hard to believe it happened, but it is so vivid in my mind, I don't know what to think.