One night, about a year ago, I decided to quit dreaming.
Every day, every night, for 20 years, the dream was exactly the same
– same props, same characters, same outcome. I could picture all of it
with vivid clarity, but the fantasy never survived the transition from
sleep to the real here and now. It burned up on re-entry. It lived only
in the ether of my mind.
In the dream, I was an author. I wrote books. I spent my days on
safari in my own imagination. I was satisfied. I was doing what I loved
for a living, and that contentment permeated every hard, dark corner of
my existence. Then suddenly I was awake again, and the reality that I
was NOT the person in my dream washed over me like rain cloud.
So one night, about a year ago, I decided to quit dreaming. I sat
down at my keyboard and began to write. I began to create the trappings
of my dream in real life.
It has been the hardest year of my writing life. Rejection has
reigned. Every small victory has been countered by enormous
disappointment and despair. I have neglected friendships,
responsibilities, family obligations. Phone calls and emails have gone
unreturned. I have opened my soul to criticism, and I have convinced
myself that this is my last best chance to accomplish something for
myself – to escape the rut of cubicle jobs, financial desperation and
Thursday morning, my agent called from New York.
“You have a book deal,” she said.
Just like that, the dream became real.
Read the rest here.
All I can say Danny is ROCK ON! That is the best.
Workplace warning: f-bomb word in post (this and others), and in the comments. Used in a fun way, but if your corporate filters will get mad at you for this, better to read at your home computer. If you don’t dig profanity, better take a pass.