Last night I dreamed that I sent a story I wrote off to a contest, and while it didn’t place in the contest, it did receive positive feedback from two of the judges. One was a handwritten note, signed in a precise and sophisticated hand, and the other was a small inspirational card that looked as if it had been pinned to a bulletin board for a long time, with several pinholes, the edges worn soft as velvet.
It’s no surprise I dreamed about writing, since I went to sleep thinking about a story I have been stumbling over, trying to write. It’s like a stalled labor. Someone is going to have to cut this thing out of me. It feels just like that, raw and messy and stuck so bad it just might kill me.
I have to drum up some energy to deliver this story! If nothing else, my dream compels me to do so. I don’t have to win a prize, I don’t have to write an earth-shattering story, I can just bring it forth and let it live its own mediocre little story-life. To not finish it would mean another small death, another blow to my creative confidence. That is something I know I can’t afford.
So thank you, dream judges, for the votes of confidence when I had none. Perhaps now I will find a way to push through my own resistance. Isn’t that something we all have to do?