Dream One: I’m part of some kind of covert operation
sneaking into orphanages and insane asylums and sanatoriums breaking out the
people – kids, mostly – who don’t really belong there or could be better cared
for elsewhere.
Dream Two: I’m on a cruise with a) Members of a doomsday
cult, and b) Random denizens from Island Park Scout Camp. We’re visiting some
red rock place with canyons and a winding river and every time I want to take a
picture the cult is in the shot doing doomsday things or the scouts are in the
shot singing their stupid songs. I finally get a good shot and the memory card
in the camera is full.
Perhaps using your dreams as a gauge in deciding whether or
not to pursue that dream to write a novel isn’t a good idea.
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