Nightmares

I read something years ago that said children often have nightmares, but they grow out of them; adults only have them occasionally.

I was surprised to read this because I've had nightmares all my life. The night I don't have one would be the exception.

But the nightmares have been really bizarre since I came down with a respiratory virus shortly after Christmas.  And they've stepped up their vivid strangeness during my recovery period.

I know it's temporary. But - WOW!

And, no, they're too disjointed to use as fiction material.

Researchers still aren't sure why we dream and or the purpose of dreams. One theory that makes the most sense is that our brains are clearing out their "cache" while we sleep, which explains the random impressions of our lives that reassemble in very peculiar ways while we sleep.

Mostly I'm curious if anyone else reading this post regularly experiencing nightmares or has nightmares when sick. 

Thoughts?

Last Night I Dreamed of Hope

And I wanted to capture those dream fragments before they vanished to specks.

Once upon a time I had no animals in my house because of my asthma. But I married a man with a dog and a cat, and my asthma appeared to tolerate them as long as I vacuumed every day and changed my shirt and washed my hands after handling them.

We kept Scooter for the rest of his life. The cat, Roxy, didn't tolerate my children and lived out the rest of her days in a heated barn in Minooka.

Then Daniel fed a stray tabby kitten one day, and that's how we acquired Frances.

Then Christopher persuaded us to take one kitten from the litter of abandoned strays he rescued, and that's how we acquired Midnight.

Our veterinarian would not spay Midnight until she was tapeworm-free. And she was full of tapeworms, along with ear mites. I told the kids not to get attached, that we were providing hospice care. This was 2007, and we still have Midnight.

Anyway, during this transition time in our life, Midnight ran outside and vanished as we were leaving for the route. This was shortly before one in the morning and it was probably about eighteen degrees below zero.

We ran around the yard yelling, "Midnight! Midnight!" But Midnight did not reappear. Heartsick, we left for the route.

We circled back to the yard about four in the morning after we delivered Marycrest and before we started delivering to Channahon and Minooka. This time, Midnight emerged from underneath the deck...along with three other cats. We picked her up to bring her into the house, and she was not cold at all.

I'm sure you know where this story is going.

Ron would not hear of giving away the kittens and named them Faith, Hope, and Charity.

Charity used up all nine lives in his first five years. He is another story altogether.

Faith is still with us and living up to her name.

Hope escaped my son's house while we were losing ours. She ran into the neighborhoods and adopted another family. How we became reunited with Hope is also its own story.

At the time, we could not bring Hope home because we had lost our home, and we had too many cats for our lease. So Hope stayed with her new family temporarily, which turned into permanently.

It was really the best life for Hope, who needed the freedom to live as an indoor/outdoor cat (we had special fencing for our cats when we had our home in Channahon).

Hope and her family don't live in Illinois anymore, so it's not possible to see her. I still miss her terribly, but I'm happy she's had a great life and brought so much joy to another family.

She's older now and has a hip issue. She was also attacked a year or so ago and doesn't go outside anymore. But perhaps Hope is now happy being a couch cat and dreaming of her former glory days.

I never dreamed of Hope until last night. I'm not sure why I did last night. Jim sent me some updates and photos, but that was a couple of weeks ago. So Hope wasn't on my mind in that way.

But it was a wonderful dream.

I dreamed Jim had come into town with Hope to surprise us. Of course, our home was not the same home, but your mind believes that it is.

I spent lots of time cuddling with Hope, who totally remembered me, and showing Jim old photos and videos of Hope that we don't have because cell phone technology from 2008 to 2014 is not the same as it is today.

Hope also spent plenty of time with Midnight, her mother, and Faith, her sister. 

The only thing different about Hope was her attitude. She had completely dropped her "tortie" attitude. In real life, even though she is older, she still has it. As Jim's wife recently said to me, "Hope is still Hope." If you ever met Hope, you would understand.

Finally Jim had to leave. I walked with him to his vehicle, and we waited for Hope to come outside. Soon she came running out the door with Faith, two sisters, running together to the car.

And then I woke up, missing Hope.

But I'm still super, super, super happy and thankful Hope picked such a wonderful life - and family - for herself. We now know two wonderful people because of Hope. 

Here is the really fun part of the story.

Hope wandered into a home where the man living there was grieving the recent death of his own cat. Not knowing Hope's name, he called her Lola, which is kind of close to Hope's real name.

Three months later, Hope developed fleas and took her to his veterinarian. That's when the vet discovered her microchip and called us.

Jim was devastated. But he was (sort of ) ready to relinquish her when we came to pick her up. Except we couldn't take her with us. And he was more than thrilled to keep her until we could.

We actually were not in the position to do so until late 2019. '

And then we had a pandemic.

And then we didn't feel right about taking her back.

And then the family moved.

I think of the joy Hope brought to Jim's life.

If Faith is living up to her name, I think Hope is, too.

Have a great Tuesday!

The Dream?

Sleep eluded me for some time on Friday night once I realized I might be back in the ER on Saturday morning.

I remember lying on my right side with my mind slipping between alert and drowsy, and praying the problem might be resolved on its own without medical intervention.

I sensed a voice saying that might happen if I remained right and chose small.

Or I could choose left and the follow the larger way, the path laid out for me.

I wavered a moment. Small and easy was so tempting. But small and easy also felt bleak.

So I rolled onto my left and promptly fell asleep.

And in the morning, since the physical issue hadn't resolved, Timothy and I went to the ER.

We stayed for twelve hours, and I was admitted. 

I met some wonderful people.

I heard some amazing stories.

I'll share a few tomorrow.

Have a wonderful Tuesday.

Childhood Dreams Can Come True

When I was a child, the only Joliet Public Library branch was the downtown branch at 150 N. Ottawa St. was the only library I knew.

I thought all libraries were old marble and limestone buildings with arched windows. And in this wonderful space, I discovered all sorts of wonderful books to read all the way into eighth grade when we moved to New Lenox.

Picture books. Chapter books. Collections of short scary stories. "The Best Plays Of..." yearbooks, which I discovered in seventh grade, where, between those pages, I was introduced to such stage notables as Moss Hart, Marcel Marceau, and Cecil Beaton, and read wonderful scripts (the top ten were featured). 

You know how some authors dream of seeing their books in Barnes and Noble? Well, as a child, I dreamed of seeing my books downtown in the Joliet Public Library.

I knew both branches had some of my BryonySeries books as part of its local author collection, which WriteOn Joliet helped initiate. And I knew where to find those books at the Black Road branch.

But I didn't know where the Ottawa Street branch displayed the local authors...until one night, when Rebekah and I were leaving the library after editing the WriteOn Joliet radio play.

There they were - right in the middle of the lobby, near the main entrance.

Who says childhood dreams can't come true?

Peder B. Helland - In A Dream

When You First Hold Your Words in Your Hands

Many people who write fiction have those stories in their heads for many years before they feel brave enough to actually write them.

Many people who write fiction know, deep down, they will never see their work traditionally published.

Even when people who write fiction understand they can self-publish and share their writings with a few, the process feels so daunting they never tackle it.

And many people who write fiction also know that, however they publish, few actual people will ever read those words, even if they sell their books.

Knowing all of this, writers still, somehow, write.

And no joy can match the the joy when the first proof copy of your first book arrives in the mail and you can actually hold your words in your hands.

Pictured is the real Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara (yes, he's a real person), holding the proof copy of Ruthless, his first novel.

His wife Nancy, a beloved art teacher who made the front page of the Daily Southtown when she retired from Brodnicki Elementary School in Justice in 2014 - and was subsequently given the keys of the city - created all the interior and cover art.

Rebekah created the actual cover and did all the formatting.

I did all the editing - except for one round of copyediting that Colleen H Robbins did - and am currently copyediting the proof.

But nothing matches the work Ed himself put into this novel.

You see, Ed is extremely dyslexic and scatterbrained - his own words. And he's also said he's never finished anything. 

My kids say this is not true. He's worked as a supervisor in newspaper delivery his entire life. And he always finished his routes.

Nevertheless, this book is a huge accomplishment in many ways. He wrote it to fit into my BryonySeries and developed some of my characters in ways I didn't imagine.

He asked for deadlines from, and he met every one.

And to ensure he met those deadlines, he worked through COVID.

Not "COVID" as in the pandemic.

But his own battle with COVID in November.

I'm very honored to be part of his publishing journey.

And I'm inviting everyone reading this post right now to be part of the celebration.

Calkins Day 2021 will be held from 7 to 8 p.m. Calkins Day (Feb. 13, 2021) on Zoom. 

Real food and drink available if you bring your own ingredients. 

Calkins and his sidekick “The Goddess” will chat about author collaborations, how to legally  fictionalize a real person, literary nonsense. Irish vampires, deep time psychosis, and Astro-Time Physics.

He will also answer questions but doesn’t promise you’ll understand the answers. Calkins will also randomly give away three copies of “Ruthless.”

And we will celebrate the release of “Ruthless,” by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, is a work of absolute literary nonsense about the last seven seconds in the life of an Irishman and his afterlife as an Irish vampire, most of which never happened.

Local author and WriteOn Joliet co-leader Tom Hernandez will emcee. 

Chef Tim will give three demonstrations. Menu and ingredient list provided after registration.

Calkins Day is free. To register, visit bryonyseries.com/registerforcalkinsday.

An Ed Calkins Spinoff? Apparently, Yes.

A couple weeks ago, a BryonySeries fan suggested I write a prequel to the Ed Calkins Steward of Tara, Irish vampire character.

I felt only Ed himself should write it and told her so. Then I suggested the idea to Ed, who said he'd "think about it."

A few says ago, while checking personal email during my walk home from work, I received this "telegram" from the Steward himself.

Dear Momi,

   

I've started something I could finish but I don't want to go any further if I'm on the wrong track. This is a rough draft. At this point I only what to know if this is the first chapter, would you read the second.

Attached was the first chapter, which I read.

Then I went onto the second telegram:

Another rough draft maybe chapter two. 

My question here is; do you care about Trudy and would you read chapter three?

I read chapter two and then replied, "Definitely!"

Here's what makes this remarkable, even if you're a first-time reader of this blog and have no idea (or even care) who Ed Calkins is.

Ed's been writing stories for over five decades and making up stories about himself for probably just as long. He's dyslexic and scatterbrained (his own admission). His computers have crashed and taken his stories with him.

All of which I incorporated into my books, using Ed's own words.

 “Have you stopped to consider what’s fair to me? Do you know what it’s like to have stories bursting inside of you, only to hand-deliver, since I was a lad, newspapers full of other people’s stories, and not be able to put the right words down on paper? I’m so dyslexic and scatterbrained, even spell-check doesn’t recognize my words.”

            

“I don’t care,” John-Peter began, but Ed continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

             

“So, I wind up changing the word to get past spell check, but when I keep writing that way, I kill the story. I keep trying, because I can’t stop writing, yet, on the other hand, I can’t finish anything. My life is full of half-begun novels. I couldn’t even finish one about Hannibal, my hero, foe of Rome! So, in high school, I switched to poetry, but it never sounded like any of the poetry I ever read.”

When I fictionalized him for the BryonySeries, I gave Ed space on my blog, starting back in 2010 when I started the blog. He's written nonsensical Irish humor based on my books ever since.

This includes my "Irish genealogy." 

BTW, I am not Irish.

Two years ago, I took that collection of genealogical blogs and published a book for a Calkins Day celebration (there's a whole back story to this, too much for this post) at the Book and Bean Cafe in Joliet.

I didn't tell Ed. He was extremely touched. I didn't know his lifelong dream was to see something he'd written published.

I ordered 40 books. We sold all about 11 at that event. I cut him a royalty check and sent him on his way with the rest of the books.

For Calkins Day 2019, we held a limerick slam at the cafe. The following day when I talked to the cafe's owner, she suggested partnering with me to host Calkins Day 2020. 

And she had some very particular ideas about the event.

Ed's work-in-progress, which is very well-written for a first draft, will fit very nicely with her plans.

Which means he needs to get it written, so I can edit it, publish it, and order copies before the end of January.

It is no small thing to help make someone's dream come true. That's the point of this post.

I'm humbled to be part of it. I'm grateful to the BryonySeries fan for suggesting it.

Most people don't have other people investing in their dreams. Their dreams live and die with them.

But how wonderful if we could change that!

Dreaming Up a Good Story

These were my two thoughts at 3:40 this morning.

No. one: Wow, getting rid of a headache is rather nightmarish (It's been a long couple of months of off and on again migraines).

No. two: This would make a great story.

Here's the dream:

I dreamed that someone I knew wanted to murder someone in Elwood and then commit suicide. Because I knew this person would kill me and my two youngest kids (who were pretty little in the dream), I pretended to go along with it.

So this person began to confide in me. The medium was poison. And she showed me the syringe she was going to use.

Now the setting was bizarre. It looked like a department store on the main floor (We were standing in the medicine department), but my kids were hanging out in the basement. In fact, they were waiting for me to come downstairs and watch TV and color with them.

A few aisles away, several police officers were giving another acquaintance some free food. I had a package of frozen ravioli someone had given me, so I added it to the distribution, quickly tipped off the police officers, and fled to the basement, locking and bolting the door.

I heard lots of angry yelling from upstairs for a long time and then quiet.

Before long, I heard the door rattle and one of the policemen saying everything was fine now and to come out.

By now, I was semi-conscious but still wrapped in the dream.

It's also when I realized my mistake.

By hiding away, I could no longer see the activity on the other side of the door.

Now, everything seemed too convenient.

Was it a friend or foe on the other side?

And did he now have the syringe?

At this point I woke up, fully alert, had the first two thoughts, and decided it would be stupid to get up so early.

So I set the alarm for 4:30 and went back to sleep.

I'm always amazed by the way our minds reassemble bits of information. Here's what it did:

The last emails I sent at bedtime were to several police officers for a story in progress.

My oldest son, who is diabetic, but non-insulin dependent,  is having health issues and used to live in Elwood.

I had read a post from a person receiving food before bedtime.

Also before bedtime, I had printed and packaged up some coloring sheets for my grandchildren.

Rebekah and I made a list of things we need from Walmart on Saturday.

And she wanted to make the frozen ravioli with the pork chops, but I told her to save it for later and use the potatoes instead.

And, of course, I like a good story twist.

The End.

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: Only a Dream by Sarah Stegall

Monday, October 11, 2010

Only a Dream?

According to http://www.wikipedia.com/, a dream is a succession of emotions, images, or sounds that the mind experiences during sleep. The content and purpose of dreams are not fully understood, though they have been a topic of interest and speculation throughout recorded history.

Just about everybody dreams. Most of us can recall dreams from different periods of our lives. Some of us even remember a dream from last night. Dreaming happens different for everyone, though science recognizes it usually occurs during the sleep stage of Rapid Eye Movement, or REM.

I believe, for myself, that when I dream it's my subconsciousness working out things my awake self didn't or couldn't deal with. You might disagree. I've learned that dream interpretation has an enormous berth. Recently, I noticed my daily stress has been rolling into my sleep.

I had a very disturbing dream just last night. The progression of the dream made no sense, yet my dream self knew exactly what I should be doing at all points of the dream. Only it wasn't a dream. It was more like a waking nightmare. I'm not really keen with sharing the details so I'll just give you the dynamics. Someone was dying, I couldn't stop it, and right before the dream should end, the face of the dying person was replaced with someone I'd give my life for. Even worse, the details of this dream really stood out.

All day today I've had this dream in the back of my mind. When I broke it down it was almost humorous! The beads of sweat I so clearly remember, turned out to be some drool. The password for the computer in my dream turned out to be the last thing I was thinking of last night. I also believe I gave my blanket a very awesome back rub. I realize my stresses were just amplified.

Other aspects I've come across are: I normally don't remember dreams and the ones that stand out are the ones that happen right before I awake. Sure I've had a few where I wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night, but those are ones where I don't remember much and I eventually nod back off over a book.

This post is quite relevant to Bryony, because Melissa relives a life that isn't hers during the nights. She is faced with lucid dreams or wild hallucinations. Melissa is unsure whose version of events she's dreaming of or if they are even dreams because they seem so real. Denise's manuscript is full of clues that lead the readers into making their own assumptions as to what happens. If you dream tonight, ask yourself in the morning, "Is it only a dream?"

So I Had This Dream Last Night...

...that I was sitting in a meeting of WriteOn Joliet.

One of the people present hadn't attended in a long while. This morning, I used that opportunity to reach out to her. But here's the main focus of the dream

Another member, who has been working on a young adult fantasy trilogy for a number of years, just purchased her ISBNs (the true part).

At the meeting, she pulled out a chapter to read, along with the series' very last chapter, which she had given me to read and was crumpled. To me, this indicated she had read and re-read my comments on it, taking them somewhat to heart as she revised.

Before she could explain why she was reading the very last chapter, I interrupted and told her she should not read it, that members will probably want to read her trilogy, and that sharing the last chapter may spoil the experience for them.

At this point, my co-leader remonstrated me, both for interrupting and for thinking for everyone else.

I got a little sulky about it, and the author, looking disappointed, put the last chapter away. My alarm soon went off, and I woke up still mentally arguing the point. I came to the conclusion that I should be more mindful about letting others speak before offering my opinion and let adults decide for themselves.

On the other hand (LOL), I still think I was (overall) correct in my judgment. Still, I'll never know for certain because I never listened to the author's rationale for sharing it - or in hearing the reasons why the other members might like to hear it at that meeting.

Dreams are fascinating, and I use that concept in my trilogy, especially the first one. Certain dreams stand out more than others, some for decades, and I'm more likely to recall dreams if I write them down.

How about you? Do you ever receive insight through dreams?

The Marvel of Dreams (And What That Has to Do With Creativity)

I'm talking real dreams here, the ones that occur in REM sleep.

Early Monday morning, as I'm fumbling for alarms in the middle of them, my mind sinking back into the story line once again and yet becoming alert, I felt fragments of familiarity...

First, here is the dream:

I'm reading a story a literature textbook about a teen girl with severe health problems that does amazing things, academically and personally, as she cares for rescue horses. One of my former editors sends me to get a story, and I feel the girl is interesting enough to ask a former staffer (who was also a videographer) to shoot a video, too.

During the course of the dream, the girl's house turns out to be the one we lost in Channahon. The horses are neglected, left starving in the rain, and I feel sorry for them and let them inside. The mother has greatly exaggerated this girl's accomplishments, and the family is full of issues, especially the mother. The girl's younger sister, somewhere between nine and twelve, has a severe heart issue; the father works, lives with them, but comes and goes as he pleases.

Fast forward. We are walking into a hospital reception area. The woman at the desk is handing out free fruit: bananas, apples, oranges. She gives a banana to the girl's younger sister, who tries to get one for the teen girl and this particular girl's babysitter. She's given an apple and an orange. The little girl tries giving either the banana (which is long past its ripeness) or the orange back to the woman because neither she nor the babysitter can have potassium, due to their heart conditions, but the woman is distracted waiting on other patients. Finally, and a bit irritably, the receptionist trades out the fruit.

Walking into the main part of the hospital, I find an expanse much like a shopping mall. We need to go to the lower level, which is all white and maze-like. The girls all of a sudden have brothers, and the entire group splits up with imaginary guns into a game that seems to be customary for them, but I don't know the rules. But the idea seems to be a variation on cops and robbers, one they play when they get into weird unfamiliar areas like this one.

I don't feel like it's a good idea to split up and say so, but they're hidden, and I'm trying to navigate this maze, alone, with a bad sense I'm going to run into someone not good, and I do, some guy with a real gun. At this point, I'm aware that I'm dreaming, so I turn him into the good guy who will lead me out of the maze and back into the mall-type area, while I'm all the while explaining my real lack of interior compass.

Flash forward: it's twilight, and we're in a road that cuts through a cornfield. The mother is trying to buckle the younger daughter (who now seems to be about five) into her car seat while trying to feed her kiblets of food, which isn't agreeing with her. The doctor (a middle age man in a white coat) appears, explaining why these kiblets aren't good for her. By now, my alarm has started interjecting into the dream, so it gets a bit muddled.

But the dreams weave back and forth from the cornfield, my Channahon kitchen where the mother is trying to figure out dinner from a freezer of frosted-over food, uncertain if the father will be home tonight (since they live in a Crest Hill duplex), which dips into awareness of the reality of some of these characters, until I'm finally awake.

After feeding the cats and grabbing coffee, I decided to write this down before I forgot it. Here is what my brain mashed together:

Literature book: I homeschooled my six kids, so we read literature excerpts nearly every day.

Story/former editor: I was returning to work the next day and had snapped a picture earlier that day of the type of item she collects.

Video: One of our reporters had shot video footage for me of a new feature we're trying to launch, and I spent time with his Sunday afternoon reviewing some of the editing. But a former editor had once shot a video to accompany a feature story I wrote, and it was he who appeared in the dream.

Emaciated horses: Not a clue.

Channahon home: The location for most of my features writing for many years

The fruit: Some of us take medicine that interacts with certain foods.

The hospital/mall: One of my sons is going through some health concerns; I have some tests this week (and more to schedule), and I went to the mall on vacation (only for Panera coffee, but we parked not near the entrance and had to walk through it).

Getting lost: I really do have no sense of direction and am easily lost.

Cops and robbers: My six kids literally played meme wars for several days on a group message so I could see them all.

The doctor in the white lab coat: Was actually a Joliet Junior College chef and subject in one of the videos I reviewed on Sunday afternoon.

The girl's sister with the heart condition: She actually had a name (Margie) and (in real life) was the younger sister of a high school friend. Don't think she had a heart condition. But my friend had popped into my mind a couple days ago in a fleeting way, although I had not thought of her in years (ditto for her sister).

And these are the components that my brain assembled in the final REM cycle before awakening. What that has to do with creativity ought to be obvious, but I feel that if my brain can assemble something like this from random stuff stores in my brain while I'm sleeping, it should be able to do this and more while I'm awake.

I think it also speaks to letting the mind take breaks from one creative work by working on another, kind of what I did last week on vacation, where I rested from features and worked on fiction (which I'd neglected for many weeks due to work demands, kind of like the neglected horses, perhaps?).

Although one rests while sleeping, the brain is active elsewhere. So maybe resting from one creative work while hammering out another sparks creative life in the one temporarily set aside.

Something to ponder, don't you think?

Carmilla

Now that cold weather is returning, curl up this weekend with a cozy gothic novella, one of my very favorite vampire stories, Carmilla.

The story is told by the adolescent Laura, who lives with her widower father in a castle in a remote forest. Injured in a carriage accident outside their home is a young girl, Carmilla, about Laura's age. The family cares for Carmilla during her recovery. The recognition is instaneous for the girls. Both claimed to have dreamed of the other during their respective childhoods.

Soon, the girls become romantically close friends, despite Carmilla's extreme languor, unstable moods, and habit for rising late in the day. Eventually, Laura dreams of a mysterious cat biting her chest, but leaving her room in the form of a womon. Laura's health soon suffers.

One day, a shipment of family heirloom portraits is delivered to the castle. The subject of one of those portraits, Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, identically resembles Carmilla. You can guess the rest.

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu first published Carmilla 1872, twenty-five years before Bram Stoker's Dracula. Some scholars feel Carmilla heavily influeced Stoker's novel. Read it and see for yourself. Carmilla is available for free on my online sites.

Only a Dream?

According to http://www.wikipedia.com/, a dream is a succession of emotions, images, or sounds that the mind experiences during sleep. The content and purpose of dreams are not fully understood, though they have been a topic of interest and speculation throughout recorded history.

Just about everybody dreams. Most of us can recall dreams from different periods of our lives. Some of us even remember a dream from last night. Dreaming happens different for everyone, though science recognizes it usually occurs during the sleep stage of Rapid Eye Movement, or REM.

I believe, for myself, that when I dream it's my subconsciousness working out things my awake self didn't or couldn't deal with. You might disagree. I've learned that dream interpretation has an enormous berth. Recently, I noticed my daily stress has been rolling into my sleep.

I had a very disturbing dream just last night. The progression of the dream made no sense, yet my dream self knew exactly what I should be doing at all points of the dream. Only it wasn't a dream. It was more like a waking nightmare. I'm not really keen with sharing the details so I'll just give you the dynamics. Someone was dying, I couldn't stop it, and right before the dream should end, the face of the dying person was replaced with someone I'd give my life for. Even worse, the details of this dream really stood out.

All day today I've had this dream in the back of my mind. When I broke it down it was almost humorous! The beads of sweat I so clearly remember, turned out to be some drool. The password for the computer in my dream turned out to be the last thing I was thinking of last night. I also believe I gave my blanket a very awesome back rub. I realize my stresses were just amplified.

Other aspects I've come across are: I normally don't remember dreams and the ones that stand out are the ones that happen right before I awake. Sure I've had a few where I wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night, but those are ones where I don't remember much and I eventually nod back off over a book.

This post is quite relevant to Bryony, because Melissa relives a life that isn't hers during the nights. She is faced with lucid dreams or wild hallucinations. Melissa is unsure whose version of events she's dreaming of or if they are even dreams because they seem so real. Denise's manuscript is full of clues that lead the readers into making their own assumptions as to what happens. If you dream tonight, ask yourself in the morning, "Is it only a dream?"