Friday, July 16, 2010
The subconscious is a strange animal
I was dreaming about something else altogether, having something to do with swimming. I’m sure Freud would tell me about all the underlying whatever, but, really, that was all fine. But then I was in my car, pulling into a curving dirt driveway. There was an Audi station wagon parked just ahead of me and, at the end of the short drive, there was a house that was still under construction. On the unfinished front porch stood two women. One of them, I didn’t recognize (and I can’t even picture her face now) but the other was a very professional looking Kristin Nelson.
You read that right. Kristin Nelson. The lovely literary agent—who I’ve never met—or queried—or anything—so I don't really KNOW that she's lovely, but she seems to be on her blog, which I do read occasionally.
Anyway, so here I am in the dream. I’m pulling into this driveway too fast, and I kind of catch the back corner of this Audi (hard) as I’m making the corner, because I don’t turn fast enough. And, in my dream, I’m all, “Oh Kristin!” like I’m supposed to know her or something. And she’s scowling at me as I pull up to the house (still speeding and out of control, like I never really learned to drive) and skid to a stop.
And then I wake up.
Any ideas? You think there’s a book in there anywhere?