A long time ago, when I was learning how to speak Spanish, I dreamed in Spanish. Not just the dialogue, but the narration too. Magically, the dreams were never constrained by the dry vocabulary in my Spanish II textbok. I was able to form sentences without stopping to think about conjugation, tense, or prounouns. Best of all--my accent was flawless.
An even longer time ago, when I was learning to type, I dreamed in key strokes. I learned on a Wang (not an euphemism). The interface was primitive--a black screen with bright green, Hal-like characters. In my dreams, though, as long as I typed the action, it played out in vivid color. I was a faceless narrator, clicking away, asdf jkl;, at about 100 wpm.
Lately, though, I've been dreaming in words. I see paragraphs and pages of text, and like an interior designer walking into a bachelor pad, I'm tsk, tsking. I want to fix it. I can fix it. Instead of moving the couch, I'm moving a scene. Instead of scouring antique shops for the perfect accent piece, I'm searching for the perfect word--the one that will take a humdrum sentence from whatever to wow. Metaphors, fresh description, and snappy dialogue are indexed and catalogued, like fabric samples and paint chips. When I wake up, I'm stumbling to the computer in my pajamas so I don't forget.
Revisions are going well. In the words of Stephen Tyler, Dream On.
