Years ago the Everly Brothers told
us to dream, dream, dream. Some of us
dream more than others. Some people remember their dreams; others don't. My
dreams are usually vivid, often bizarre, and frequently funny. Some I'll never
forget. Others dissolve with the morning light, leaving only a visceral feeling
of delight or fear or adventure or stress.
One dream many of us share is the
"unpreparedness dream." That dream can take many forms but often
harkens back to our schooldays. Facing a final exam and realizing you've
forgotten to study. Forgetting your locker combination when all your books are
inside. Searching fruitlessly for the location of a classroom. For twenty-five
years I lectured on theology, and every August I'd have my annual
nightmare—failing to prepare for the first lecture; realizing the class
location had changed and no one told me; losing my place in my notes and never finding
it again. When I'm feeling stressed, I often dream I'm trying to steer a speeding
car—from the backseat.
Dreams are stories we tell ourselves.
Experts say dreams proceed from our emotions, especially those we refuse to
acknowledge and process on a conscious level. Everyone who dreams is a storyteller.
I know writers who keep a pad of paper and a pen on their bedside table in case
a wonderful plot unfolds in the night or the solution to a story problem
presents itself. That's never happened to me. But can we learn anything from
the tales we weave in the night? I think so. Here are five ways our dreams can
point the way to a successful novel.
1. Central Conflict
Dreams revolve around a central
conflict. Will we keep the speeding car on the road? Escape from the alien invaders?
Find our lost classroom? Conceal the fact that we're wearing no clothes? Rescue
someone from doom and disaster? Conflict is not only the centerpiece of our
dreams; it is the generator of them. The same is true of our works in progress.
No conflict, no story. To paraphrase Donald Maass, The cat sat on the mat is a statement; The cat sat on the dog's mat is a story. Conflict is the central
principle of any novel. Conflict is what captures readers and keeps them
turning pages. What do your characters want, and what is preventing them from
getting it? How can you add conflict to every scene, every page?
2. Character Count
Pick a dream you remember. How many
characters were pivotal to the action? Besides yourself, probably one or two. We
may dream about crowds, but the cast of characters (those whose actions
determine the story) are limited. In my dreams, the main characters often play
dual roles—morphing from one thing to another—but they are always directly
involved in the central conflict. The same is true in a novel. Readers have a
hard time keeping a huge cast of characters straight. Do you really need them
all? Which can be eliminated without changing the outcome? Can some characters
do dual duty?
3. Core Concept
Dreams can be divided into broad
categories: unpreparedness dreams, flying dreams, dreams of death, romantic
dreams, chase dreams, dreams of frustration (trying over and over again to dial
a phone and failing, for example), dreams of paralysis (like trying to run
through thick molasses). Each type of dream delivers a clear and vivid emotional
impact. In your work-in-progress, can you identify the core concept or impact
you're trying to create? If not, that impact will be diffused.
4. Creative Circumstances
In dreams, anything can happen,
right? And there's often a plot twist. Once I dreamed I was spraying flowers
with insecticide—until the insects developed sweet human faces and asked me why
I was trying to kill them. Dreams regularly take surprising and game-changing
turns. A person who has died returns—but is it really him? The car you're riding in rounds a curve and skids off the
road into space. Yikes. The person
you're chasing suddenly becomes your pursuer. Is the story you're writing too
predictable? What unexpected circumstances will keep your readers engaged? If
you're never surprised at what your characters say and do, neither will your
readers be.
5. Critical Connections
Dreams, like novels, deal with the important
stuff of life. They are invariably timely, addressing the underlying issues impacting
our lives right now. Dreams connect with our lives—and our writing—because they
address universal themes like survival; loss; living up to expectations;
fidelity in romance; death; fears; insecurities; hidden secrets and
embarrassing truths (dreams of nakedness, for example). Agents and editors
frequently ask writers to identify the underlying theme or themes in their
work. Can you? "If you want
your novel to touch readers, long after they’ve turned the final page, it needs
a deeper layer of meaning that only theme can provide." (Harry
Chapman, "What Is Theme and Why Does It Matter?" Novel Writing Help, August 16, 2018).
BOTTOM LINE: we're all natural
storytellers. Every night (whether we remember them or not) we create tales
filled with conflict, populated by characters who matter, dealing with core
concepts, energized by unexpected circumstances, and facing the critical themes
of life. Should the stories we write do less?
What's the scariest or craziest dream you've ever had? Has a dream ever helped you with a plot line?
