I woke up this morning finishing a story I’d begun in a dream. I wrote it down as soon as I got up, but it didn’t feel the same. There was a gap between my dream world and the blinking cursor on my laptop.
Words came. The images took their time to form.
But the crispness of the dream had lost its sharp brilliance. What I saw with my unconscious mind faded under the scrutiny of my waking mind.
The story on my screen now had become another story, now sensitive to other needs of my characters, of my audience, of my vision.
Was the dream story better? No, just different.
One was lost to its audience. The other had just come alive.