I’ve had this very cool thing happen recently. Not once, but twice.
I’ve dreamt entire storylines. And when I’ve woken up, they’re still with me, which means I’ve been able to write them down. Seriously, whole kit and caboodle. (What is a caboodle? Must Google.) The characters, the journey, the conflict, the ending. In fact, the first time I woke up when this happened, I decided I didn’t like the ending, so went back to sleep and changed it.
One of those dreams is the book I’ll begin writing tomorrow, Chosen. I can’t wait to put fingertips to keyboard on this environmental apocalypse novel. I haven’t written one of these before and I’m looking forward to the challenge.
The other I just finished writing the proposal for this evening, and I’m really excited about it too. That’s an actual sci-fi, something I’ve never attempted. But it was so vividly clear in my dream, I can see how most of it plays out already.
And then… for some reason I started thinking about my favourite novels as a child. I loved the whimsical ones, the ones that made me laugh even as they made me think. I loved sincere and well crafted absurdity. And that led me into wondering if I could write what I loved so much as a child. The Afterlife, Inc series was a good start (and the second one, Fury’s Choice, is available now at this fine retailer). But I want to take it a step further into the Robert Asprin/Terry Prachett zone (not that I’ll ever be that good, but a girl has to aspire, right?), so in this one, the princess butch isn’t locked away in the tower as much as she’s locked herself away from the monsters outside.
I developed aspects of it in my sleep and wrote the particulars down the next day. That doesn’t mean they make sense, it simply means I’ve got something to work with.
At conferences, a common question is, “how do you come up with your stories?”
I go to sleep.