Every once in a while I wake up with a story in my head. Played out in a dream and beautifully original and fresh, it's all mapped out and ready to be written, or at the very least, the big ideas are lined up and I can make notes for writing later before I roll back over to sleep.
Samual Taylor Coleridge wrote on this concept regarding the poem "Kubla Khan." He woke from a dream *cough*opium*cough* with a gorgeous poem in his head and started writing, only to be interrupted by a neighbor asking for sugar. This neighbor stayed so long that when Coleridge returned to his writing, the remains of the poem were lost, and thus we only have 54 lines of the amazing epic.
Well, I normally keep a notepad by my bed with a pen or pencil to prevent such losses, but last night it wasn't there or I didn't think about it, or, for whatever reason, I rolled over on a dream for a short story.
It was something about a couple in a large house who had this business of selling dogs. And they were wonderful dogs, about any breed you could think of. Well, they go on vacation and this guy, Elsie (possibly Tovar was his last name?), is asked to watch the house. Turns out they make the dogs magically or something. Shrug, as I said, I lost the rest. The most notable things in my mind now are the image of the office/waiting area where they bring in the dogs to meet the buyers, and the fellow's name, Elsie Tovar(?). Yes, his name was Elsie, but I like it. I may end up using it anyway.
And if I do, you readers will be the only ones to know that Elsie didn't start as whatever he might end up being, but as a babysitter for dogs in a dream.
Charlie and His Orchestra
22 hours ago