One of the things that I have been thinking about lately is how I might maintain a writing practice with all of the other demands that might be put on me over the next few months. Writing memoir can be healing, but it is also emotionally draining. I'm not sure that I will have the emotional energy to continue that kind of writing practice.
After being sick the night before, last night I slept hard. I had a long, elaborate dream. It was like watching a movie. The characters were fully developed and there was a strong plot. It was about a teacher who had a son who went into the military against her wishes. He is discharged prior to his expected release and comes back preoccupied and depressed. He refuses to talk about his experiences in Iraq and rarely leaves his room in the basement. One day he meets one of his mother's students: a beautiful little girl of about 10. She is wearing a pick ribbon in her hair when they meet. A few days later the girl is missing. The teacher suspects that her son had something to do with the little girl's disappearance. She decides to search his room and finds the pink ribbon there. She ends of testifying in his trial and her son goes to prison for the murder of the little girl.
When I woke up I was aware of two things. First, that I had created this story in my sleep. And second, that it was a welcome escape from the reality of my own life right now. Fiction may very well be the kind of writing that I need at this point in my life.
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