I don’t dream every night, or even close to it. But I do have amazingly detailed and complex dreams. Everything from epic journeys to wild adventures to new worlds that don’t exist yet. And then there’s the occasional dream where I’m eating, or looking for a bathroom, or walking down a street. I don’t like those ones. They’re boring.

When I say my dreams can be complex, I mean really complex. One of my most memorable dreams (from when I was in high school) involved Pokemon, unicorns running through a library, watching tiny fish eat a microwaved burrito (which was meant to poison me but it had to be eaten or there would be consequences). There was also an arrow shaped arrow quiver, in depth conversations, and a man yelling at the rat-faced unicorns.

That dream sticks with me as one of the most involved, vivid and ridiculous dreams I’ve ever had. Someday I’ll remember it or find some scrap of paper I wrote it on and I’ll write the whole thing out.

Another amazingly vivid dream that I had more recently (that I actually remember) was some kind of post-apocalyptic thing where it was necessary to stay underground during the night (or was it day?). Underground was an intricate system of tunnels, hierarchy and species. There were rooms of stacked beds, mutants who had to stay underground, and dangerous sublevels. Above ground were hostile authorities, but venturing above ground was the only way to get food.

I had a dream about hiding within castle walls with other princesses, and long slides that helped us escape. I had a dream about swimming with orcas while two men pulled an island behind us with two catamarans.

While most of them are amazing now (and more than a few have given me amazing ideas for short stories or novels), I also remember some that have been terrifying. As a child I had several recurring nightmares. When I was very young there was a dream where a monster would chase me around and find me no matter how quiet I was or how well I hid. I had a dream where someone tried to take my little brother and no matter how hard I fought, nothing worked. I stabbed the man with a screwdriver, but it wasn’t really the man. It was a freshly leaking paint can. I had dreams where a man was stalking me, watching me from across the street, following me when I walked to the store, or watching me from feet away.

I had a dream where I could smell the minty breath of a man who was too close.

I had a dream where I died. I know you’re not supposed to do that in dreams, but I did. I died. I was on stage and I got shot. I fell off the stage into the arms of the crowd and I spoke to them, and then I died. I didn’t wake up immediately, and I know it because it felt just like sleeping without dreaming after that.

I’ve had dream journals before, and I’ve used computers and cell phones to keep track of them, but they always seem to get lost. Some dreams seem to stick with me forever though, and I really should get on exploring, expanding, and writing them. Maybe this blog will be the kick in the pants I need to make that happen. Some dreams are suitable for short stories and some for entire series’.

I know this post was kind of all over the place, but that’s how I’m feeling right now.

How about you?

Do you keep a dream journal? Do you ever get inspiration from your dreams? Have you ever died in a dream? What is your most memorable dream?

Let me know. And if you’ve ever written anything from your dreams, post a link to it if it’s online or for sale.

Sleep well!