So I had this dream. It was a couple of years ago, and it was horrifyingly vivid. It had to do with a couple of policemen who walked into a gas station, and the situation that ensued. I have a dream journal where I record my more powerful dreams because it seems to exorcise them, but that wasn’t enough for this one. I had to turn it into a story.
It was a story that I hated. Dark and gritty with sex, bullets, and brain matter. There wasn’t anything redeeming about it, at least not to me. I originally submitted it to a magazine, but later pulled it because it wasn’t something that I wanted my name to be associated with. It was too ugly, and I hated that it came out of my head. I thought that I was ready to let it go.
Apparently I’m not. I found myself opening the file and carving out the worst of the material. I started adding scenes. Suddenly it has become a ghost story, and I think it’s a story of redemption. We’ll see where it takes me.
This isn’t a post about censorship. I’m not altering this story (it’s called “Bells”) because I don’t want to offend others. If you want something in the story, it should stay in the story, end of discussion. But if it needs to go, be brave enough to cut it, even if it’s difficult.
Speaking of doing things that are difficult, I have an almost crushing workload that I need to devote myself to this week. I’ve been putting it off because it has been so daunting. I doubt that I’ll have much time for writing or anything else for a little bit. I wish you well. 🙂