More Thoughts from a Random (and Sleeping) Mind

By Andrew E. Kaufman: Author of Psychological Thrillers

Ok, time for another confession.

I write in my sleep.

Well, not all the time, and not all of it amounts to much, but sometimes I do, and sometimes it does. For those who know me, this should really come as no surprise. It’s kind of how I roll. Random? Definitely. Stream of thought? Without question. Chaotic? God, yes.

Yep, I’m all of that, but since I’m also an intuitive writer, I rely a lot on my subconscious mind to tell my stories. Some call this their Muse, or their inspiration, or their alter ego or...whatever. I call him Bob (don’t even ask, because I have no explanation).

But the truth is, the subconscious mind really is our “better half”, so to speak. It’s the place where we don’t over think or judge, where no idea is too outlandish, and where anything goes. In short, the lizard brain throws it out there, then the logical mind reels it in. 

My first novel, While the Savage Sleeps, came to me as a dream, and while some might call that a nightmare, I woke up knowing I’d nailed it. The images, the mood, the tone--all of it-- seemed so clear that I hopped right out of bed the next morning and couldn’t wait to put my fingers to the keyboard. From that point on, the words seemed to pour seamlessly from my brain to the screen. In fact, more than any of my books, people most often comment that reading it was like watching a movie in their heads, and maybe that’s because the dream felt like one. Oddly enough, there was background music and rolling credits at the end (again, don’t ask).

Trust me when I say, it’s not the first time something like this has happened. From what I understand, apparently, I talk a lot in my sleep, and that makes sense, because I’ve had some rather lively discussions during dreams. For example, Patrick once read me the riot act inside a grocery store (he was very unhappy about the way I was portraying him), and I caught Tristan trying to hot wire my car (she’s a career criminal). 

Of course, I don’t always go with what my dreams tell me (I guess that’s where the logical mind comes in). Originally, Tristan lived in a treehouse, and that was just plain crazy. And there was that S&M dungeon in the Clark Compound basement (where my editor gently said, “um...no.”).

As is often the case, I don’t always remember my dreams, but I’m pretty sure my writing is a reflection of them, because some of the best ideas always seem to come in the morning, and maybe that's why.

The point of all this (besides that there’s some crazy-assed stuff going on inside my head)? Hell, I don’t know. That the subconscious mind is a terrible thing to waste? 

How about you? Do you dream in color?

It Could Be

By Peg Brantley, who was a dreamer long before she was anything else.


From a reader:

It’s funny – you got me thinking – and I remembered that I used to have an imagination and used it. I was a very fanciful child and frequently lived in my own little world. I always thought I would do something creative and wonderful with my life, and here I am at 66 and I didn’t. Don’t know what happened. Life, I suppose. 


I wrote a post here some time ago that dealt with learning to dream again, and what I want to say loud and clear is that until the nails are pounded in your box, or you're put into the fire, or you're dumped somewhere where nobody will ever find the body, you Are Not Finished. You Are Not Done.

Take each moment. Make it yours. Find what thrills you. Do not turn your back on the ideas that fall into your head.

We're here for a lot of reasons. To help a child, to love someone else, to facilitate other people in the corporate world without employing greed. Each one of us knows the roles we've already fulfilled. The contributions we've already made.

But I believe that each of us also have another gift to make our world more miraculous than it already is. To leave behind a little color and surprise. It could be a song or a painting or a poem. It could be the stories you tell your grandchild at night.

The thing is, it could be. Don't give up. I don't care if you're 26 or 66 or 106. You owe your creativity to yourself. You owe your creativity to our culture (even if "our culture" consists of one friend), and if you're a believer, you owe your creativity to the one who created you.

You can blanket this world with one more layer of awe, by taking your own life and embedding it. Because each one of us has something worthy to leave behind.

If you're already a writer, what else would you like to create? A painting? A garden? If you're a parent, is there something else you've always wanted to try? A short film? A cookbook?

So, to my beloved reader who shared your heart with me: It could be.

In Pursuit of Imperfection

By Peg Brantley, Writer at Work, Stumbling Toward Publication

Once upon a time, a fearless little girl lived in my body. Peggy Ann dreamed little girl dreams and went after them with a sureness that startles me when I think about it today. Her parents told her she could do anything she wanted to do, and she believed them.

It took me decades to realize she'd gone missing.

When I tried to figure out where I had lost that gutsy dreamer, I understood there was probably no single defining moment. I'm pretty certain though, it had to do with failure. The successful people I saw had auras around them. Perfect auras. Anointed. They didn't fail. Ever.

I can still hear my dad's voice. "If you're going to do something, do it right." Dad encouraged my sister and I in character building almost every day of our childhoods, so when he wasn't telling us we could be anything we wanted to be, he was telling us that a half-assed approach to things was not acceptable. At some point, I morphed "right" and "perfect" and adopted the philosophy that if I couldn't be perfect at something, I shouldn't do it at all.

It became easier to let dreams fade; to turn my back on them. To walk away before I could once again be reminded I wasn't perfect. That way, I couldn't fail. Right?

Fast-forward to a new century. I will love Anne Lamott forever for telling me in Bird by Bird that I could write a "shitty first draft" and survive. But I never quite believed her—I'm a lot closer to my dad than I am to Anne. So although I had information on a logical level, it never quite made a permanent connection.

One of the tools I learned from The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron is the idea of writing morning pages. They have given me direction more than once in the few short months I've been writing them. This morning I wrote my three pages almost entirely surrounding the idea that dreams are achieved by imperfect people. Say what? By people who reach out of their imperfection to touch something bigger than they are.

No one will ever be perfect. No book will ever be perfect (and between us, that still drives me a little wild), but imperfect people write perfectly wonderful imperfect books.

By people just like me. Peggy Ann.