For a short while, about two years ago, I was dreaming in stereo. Vivid, colorful dreams, with great soundtracks. I'd wake up, disappointedly realizing that I was back to the drab, and I'd write down what I could remember of the songs from the dreams. Two of these songs I was able to flesh out to the point where they seemed to be ready to be recorded. Don't worry, I am well aware of my limitations! I can't read or write music, and I can't carry a tune. I've listened enough to music, though, to have some very limited understanding of song structure, and what makes two or more notes sound good together, or not. I had this fantasy that I'd somehow manage to write up the tunes for them, using some kind of tonal representation that I'd be able to convey to someone who actually could write music, and my name would wind up in tiny print parenthesized on the label of a platinum single, or a Scissor Sisters album.
Like most fantasies, this one was eroded by reality into a couple of mildewed text files burried on the hard drive.
Also from dreams, I'd sometimes wake up with wonderful story ideas -- fully formed outlines for the arc of a great novel, or an article worthy of publication in the finest journals of our day. These ideas contained well-worded nuggets of universal truths that would illuminate and astound my growing legion of readers, my brilliance changing hearts and minds as I'd lead them into the utopian paradise formed from the gossamer of my world-view.
These, also, are somewhere burried on the hard drive. I can't even find the files. I need a better system.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment