I had a dream this week that sparked the theme of this week’s blog. Not a Martin Luthur King scale dream – more the mundane, everyday sort of dream.
I grew up playing football (of the soccer variety) A LOT. I used to play every breaktime and lunchtime at secondary school for 5 years. That’s twice a day, five days a week, not to mention after-school and weekends. Then I went on to play 11-a-side on a Saturday and 5-a-side on a Sunday. I did this for years.
As I write, I haven’t even kicked a ball for 4 years and it’s something I’m occasionally conscious of and have had numerous dreams about. I dreamt about it again this week but this time the dream stuck. I was playing with friends and I told them exactly what I’ve just told you, that I hadn’t played for years and occasionally dream about doing so. I said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if I woke up now?”
You see, I was absolutely convinced in that moment that the dream was reality.
“Look,” I said, dancing past my friend with the ball, “I’ve still got it.” My legs were strong and fit and I felt no fatigue, which should have been a sure sign this was not reality! And yet it wasn’t until I did finally wake that I realised my folly, drawing a wry half-smile from my lips as I lay in bed, struggling to rouse my 40-year-old body.
If I was so sure that was reality, I wondered. How can I be sure this is? The thought seemed to lend some credence to The Matrix simulation theory, and quantum physics notions of multiple dimensions/realities.
Sure, when we’re awake we have an idea of consistency; memories of the everyday, of our recent and longer pasts. But I’m certain in dreams I’ve had memories too, false memories of how I got to be where I was in that particular dream. Ever had a memory of something that really happened and when you mention it to a friend or relative, they say, “No, that’s not what happened. This is what happened…”?
Over time, you created a false version of the memory. Or they did.
Who’s to say – when we’re dreaming – we’re not visiting other realities, other possibilities of lives we could have had, or are having? It’s not really what I believe but it’s a fun thought and a fascinating one.
I’ve always been interested in dreams and it’s something I’ve started working into my writing. A fantasy novel as a whole feels like something of a dream – a reality taking place elsewhere. Part of the gratification of writing is the ability to transport other people to your own imagination, literally placing them in the same world with all the people who live there.
In the third, and final, instalment of my Inner Lands trilogy, dreams play a factor for Sill, causing her to question what and who to believe. Can she even trust herself anymore? It’s by no means a spoiler, but I’ve shared a snippet of this at the end of this blog – call it a preview, or evidence that I have actually been working on the book!
I’m also toying with the idea of working dreams into a future Science Fiction series, which I think could be an interesting take on the genre.
I’ll leave you with that snippet I mentioned.
Sweet dreams, Readers!
Sill stood alone in Hillock’s forest. A bed of dying, red leaves lined the ground. Everything was still and quiet. Too quiet.
Where are all the birds?
She craned her neck to peer up towards the branches of the tall serethen, searching for movement. Sunlight danced through the leaves, brightening the spectrum of Autumn colours, but nothing else moved; no noise penetrated the air; no shadows disrupted the sun’s stubborn stare.
Her eyes were drawn back down as the leaves around her began to stir. Defying the laws of nature, they drifted slowly upwards. A chill breeze rushed through her hair and more leaves picked up, swirling around her until the forest was no longer still or quiet. Sill twisted around, searching through the gaps for the source of this strange occurrence, which for once had not been created by her.
Who’s doing this?
All at once, the leaves fell. Now, all the colour had gone. The forest floor was grey, covered in dust. Sill looked up again and saw that the trees were bare, their leafless branches coated in the same grey decay.
The soft crunch of footsteps made her spin in time to see a figure slowly emerge from behind one of the wide trunks.
Work in progress – The Inner Lands: The Endless Night
theinnerlands.com 