Not Dreaming Of Daisy

Had one of those awesomely detailed dreams last night.

It was the opening scene for a crime thriller, complete with dialogue, movements of a ton of people, opening titles and a score.

Isn't the brain cool? I mean, even a pedestrian one like mine? Where did the backstory come from? The faces of all the people? The Massive Attack-like music? The floor plan of the club where that guy was doing that thing?

I take this as a good sign. We all remember the dream in college in which you get to the end of the semester and realize you never went to one class and have failed it. When I was teaching, I had dreams of class sessions, some inspired, some ridiculous. When I was knee-deep in producing the latest show I did and I was working 16 hours a day, my dreams often took the form of Avid editing -- start a scene, pause, rewind, recut, start over.

So now dreaming about a movie opening, maybe it means my mind is getting back to focusing on crafting a new script from the ether. Or wait. Would that take a dream about typing on an old laptop in the dark with a glass of bourbon next to me?

Anyway, this morning my son fell asleep as I drove him to daycare, which means only a 10 minute nap, so I wanted to give him a little more time to rest before toddlers started howling and throwing Elmo dolls at him. We sat in the parking lot, idling, Cannonball Adderley playing on the stereo, him conked out in the car seat, me scribbling down all the details I could remember from the dream.

Who knows. Maybe it'll be something.

If not, at least it reminded me about the weird process of creativity and made me take down some story notes...

And no, dear, Daisy Fuentes did not make an appearance. Promise.