Dreams and Imagination 1

I wake just before dawn. I dreamed about life in the Mafia, which is why I should never watch the Godfather before bedtime. No reason to lollygag in bed. My brain is stirred from narrowly escaping being whacked. Time to get up and write.
I sit in my worn out writing chair. The one my kids dragged in from their game room when they stole my nice leather one.
My chair creaks, but I sink into it like we belong together.
I write out of my intensity and anger left over from the scene in my dream. I don’t want to record the events of the dream, but I swipe the emotion from it, and pour it into my current work.
I write myself out of the darkness of the dream, creating a path of hopefulness in my story as my character battles her own ghosts and demons.
I take my hands off the keyboard and relax back into my chair, thankful for the colorful dreams and imagination I’ve been given. Writing is a daily practice for me. A way to channel things that are out of my control and maybe spur the imagination of others.

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