So I dreamed last night that I was waiting in line to show a manuscript to someone really important. It looked like I was at one of those free-for-all multi-author book signings where they set up card tables everywhere and drape table clothes over everything so that it's this great, jumbled maze of authors.
I'm waiting in this mile long line to see someone - I have no idea who, editor or agent - but my heart is pounding, and I'm holding my manuscript in a deathgrip against my chest. Everything is kind of a blur because I'm really nervous.
In real life I'm a tad shy, and I don't like to stand alone, so it's like an auto function for me to start searching out familiar faces. Yet all the people around me look kind of generic - I can't tell one person apart from another - so I can't even look at the folks and say, "Oh, hey! I saw her over there ten minutes ago and she did fine!"
The line moves forward, and after a minute or so I realize I'm three people away from reaching the table. I see the woman at the head of the line sit down with the important person and place her work on the table. This prompts me to look down at my own manuscript. I take it down and look at it and...lo and behold, it's empty. Nothing but blank sheets! Page after page of nothing...not a single word.
I panic. Where the hell is my manuscript? I remember I dropped it on the way to the post office and scattered the pages hither and thither - which happened months ago in real life, waking life one evening when I was racing against the clock to send off a contest entry. While thinking about that, I'm unsure of what I should do. I thought maybe the pages were just scrambled a bit. That, I can explain. But blank pages?
I stand there wondering if I should step out of line to save myself from looking like a total idiot, or go through to the end and tell this important person that I'm holding what amounts to a stack of computer paper. *_*
So there's my dream. It's some kind of writer's anxiety, I'm sure. I don't know if it's PMS or what, but I've been feeling the yearly crunch this past few weeks. Maybe that's got something to do with it. I've put out only 2 books this year, and they were more for artistic reasons than anything else.
I'd hoped to contract at least one other story by the end of the year, and I realized just yesterday that there are only 4 months left of 2008. (I read that fact on someone's blog today, and OMG. A total dousing of ice water on an otherwise calm morning. Is it really that close to the end of the year?) It's times like this I do a forehead smack and wonder what the hell I'm doing out there on the writer's field. Honestly, half the time, I really don't know. In retrospect, I think of the dream and it reminds me of something Nora Roberts said recently. "You can't edit a blank page." Who knows? Maybe my inner Nora Roberts is telling my subconscience to shut up and write.
On another note, there's a wip I'm working on right now that I have plotted to its ending with index cards. I numbered all the index cards, and discovered there are 11 in all. So far I'm down three cards. I should have this story finished by the end of next week. *fingers crossed*
Happy Tuesday, everyone!