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There is a trinity of
dreams. First are the collective dreams of our race, which guide us toward a
better future and urge us to strive to make them come true. That all these
dreams have not yet been realized—and may never be—does not deter us from
having them. We are an indomitable race, and we are patient.
Second are our individual
dreams—our daydreams while awake and those which come with sleep. Our daydreams
are generally centered on our wishes for the future and can be whatever we wish
them to be. Sleeping dreams are totally beyond our conscious control, and serve
a valuable purpose as a form of mental “housekeeping”—a way for us to seek
resolution to our inner conflicts within ourselves and accommodation with the
waking world around us. We seldom have any recollection of our sleep dreams,
and if we can recall them or pieces of them, their meaning is almost always
hidden from us.
The third of the trinity of
dreams is what prompted this entry: those dreams which are conceived in the
mind of individuals—artists, musicians, and writers and translated into words
and sounds and images which build bridges between individuals and between the
individuals and our collective culture. Born in a single mind, they can go on
to encompass us all. John Philip Sousa, for example, is said to have dreamed
every note of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” on a ship returning from Europe
on Christmas Eve, 1896.
Books are the writer’s
dreams set to paper: I know mine are. They are formed, as are all dreams, in
the imagination while, for the most part, the writer is awake. And unlike sleep
dreams, the writer has some degree of control over them. If unable to direct
the dream’s every aspect, at least the writer can consciously influence them by
nudging them in certain directions. But for writers like myself, it is the mind
which frequently overrides writer's original intentions, and takes the story
where it wants it to go. A relatively few writers are able, and prefer, to plot
out every single step and detail of a story before actually sitting down to
write. It works for J.K. Rowling, who has made more money from putting her
dreams of Harry Potter on paper than I will ever see in ten lifetimes. But it
would never work for me. The element of spontaneity, both in sleep dreams and
writing, is far too crucial for me.
To use flowing water as an
analogy, the detailed-plotting method seems to be like one of Los Angeles’
drainage canals—straight as an arrow and contained within concrete walls. I
prefer mine to be like a meandering river: I know where it’s going, but while I
can see the bends coming up, I have no idea what lies beyond them. And I am
always aware that I am not on the journey alone: the reader and I are Huck and
Jim on the raft, flowing through the story together. I can’t imagine it being
any other way.
People frequently ask
writers where they get the ideas for their books. Whenever I'm asked, my answer
is always the same: I quite honestly have no idea. They just appear. I’ll be
minding my own business, thinking of almost anything except where my next story
idea is going to come from, when I’ll be aware of something rising to the surface
of my mind like a bubble in a tar pit. I’ll watch while it emerges and forms a
bubble of thought and finally bursts, leaving me with a topic or plot idea. I
love it!
For me to try to explain
how these bubbles form and exactly how I handle them when they do appear is as
impossible as explaining how we dream what we dream when we’re asleep.
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This blog is from Dorien’s collection of blogs written after his book “Short Circuits” was published. That book is available from UntreedReads.com and amazon.com. It is also available as an audio book from Amazon or audible.com. I am looking at the possibility of publishing a second volume of blogs; these blogs are from that tentative collection. You can find information on all of Dorien’s books at his web site: www.doriengrey.com.
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