Springtime Resolution #1: Write More Fiction

The other night I had a dream that I had finally written a wonderful novel, and it had been an amazing overnight world-wide success. I flew to Britain to kick off a whirlwind book tour, and at some fancy literary party full of fancy literary luminaries, I ran into Neil Gaiman. (Okay, I know-- though British by birth, Neil Gaiman actually lives in America. In Minnesota. Near Minneapolis. But this was a dream, all right? Maybe he was there promoting his new children's musical pandimonum Wolves in the Walls. What? No! I'm not obsessed with Neil Gaiman. Not in the slightest. What are you implying? Anyway).

In my dream, he said to me, "I read your new novel and I am absolutely in love with it. You have a beautiful mind. I do hope you're already writing another."

And, in my dream, I was preternaturally unruffled, and said something very coy and witty in response that set the whole room laughing. And then I woke up. Because I must have suddenly known at that moment I was dreaming. Because in real life, not only have I not yet written a best-selling novel-- In real life, I am a total dork, and there is no way on earth I would ever be able to come up with anything witty to say to Neil Gaiman, or for that matter any famous author I like, in person. I mean, seriously. I'd be lucky to be able to stammer out a "How-very-nice-to-m-m-meet you!"before flushing bright red and ducking into the next room to get a drink or something.

Then the next afternoon I casually happened to saunter by Neil Gaiman's blog (See? Happened. To saunter by. Casually. Not obsessed). And I saw that he'd put up a post about dreams (And about a guy who is EATING,* as in munching the pages, of Neil Gaiman's complete works. See? I am not obsessed with Neil Gaiman!).

And for a split second before reading on, I imagined, despite being a card-carrying skeptic of all-things-supernatural, that Neil Gaiman would say, "Last night I had a curious dream about meeting this young American woman, quite the sparkling wit, who had written the most fascinating book, and we had such a pleasant, entertaining conversation, and I told her that she had a beautiful mind, and that she she should really write another book. (And also, on a side note, I was thinking, in this dream I had, that she was strikingly attractive in a nerdy sort of way, and that that charming, handsome husband of hers who regularly reads her blog had to be a very lucky man). And I woke with the unmistakable sense that this woman really exists somewhere, and I really ought to tell her that she really ought to write something. Isn't that odd?"

And I further imagined that this shocking cosmic coincidence would be a blaring wake-up call from the universe telling me to GET ON IT ALREADY with the actual writing of one or more of the fifteen different unwritten stories I currently have knocking around in my big fat head, and that somehow I would be inspired to find time and energy, to MAKE time and energy, in my WAHM-of-a-toddler schedule to write something for myself already, something I wasn't expecting to immediately be paid for, (other than, of course, my blog).

But it turns out Neil Gaiman, being Neil Gaiman, actually had just a dream about escorting a zombie Queen Mother to some charity dinner whilst trying to evade the mafia.

I decided to make myself take it as a cosmic sign anyway.

*Okay, so it turns out this book-eating guy may have just been perpetrating an elaborate April Fool's hoax. But still, I imagine there are people out there who really would do this.