Sweet (Writing) Dreams Are Made of These

I hope your Labor Day weekend respite was relaxing and full of SPF 30
lotion focused on your shoulders or higher. Before I move on to real
time blogging I just want to congratulate everyone on the fantastic
outpouring for the Commenting Story Adventure. It is always a great
sign when the number of comments is roughly equal to my score on the
math section of the SAT. Seriously though, it was so much fun to
read, participate and emoticize that I think we need to do a
different type of story adventure at least once a month. Now everyone
pause for a second and congratulate yourselves on performing so
handsomely and go out and treat yourself to a Fribble. You earned it.

On my personal front, I have just vaguely completed a story for
Boston Magazine that turned out to be one of the more difficult
pieces I've ever written, and this comes from someone who once tried
to theme an entire story around sitting in a Papa Ginos in the North
Shore. The problem was that the piece had no natural narrative arc
and only tangential characters who would agree to talk on the record.
It was mostly an observation piece-- a piece about entering a world
you haven't seen and observing the characters in it. I love these
ideas--generally-- and this piece was ripe with observational fruit,
but I just don't know about how it went. And I keep having dreams
that go like this:

Me, answering the phone: Hello?
My editor: Your piece doesn't work.
Me: Why?
My editor: Because it's bad.
Enters Ms. Ash, my first grade teacher. She turns to me: What a
letdown. Oh yeah-- and Pluto? It's not a planet. I'm retro-actively
lowering your science grade.
Then Ms. Ash and my editor give each other fist bumps and leave on
(separate!) motorcycles.

Regardless, I want more of you folks and less of myself. And today
I'm interested in dreams. Like the kind you have when you're REMing.
Does anyone else suffer from vaguely realistic dreams that either
answer, alleviate, or make worsen real life problems when they go to
sleep stressed? It always seems to happen to me, and then I wake
having turned my entire body around in the bed, something that freaks
out the general public.

Ok. Have at me. Dreams, writing, writing about dreams, or really
specific questions about the food choices offered at the US Open.
It's your prerogative.

Sleeping,
In

The Postal Service