I have a recurring dream.
I dream that I am standing in front of a large bookshelf in a private library room. The room features a big overstuffed armchair and a good reading lamp in an inviting corner; just the kind of place to settle in for a good long read.
The bookshelf holds many volumes of hardbacks and paperbacks, novels and short story collections- their titles are alluring and they all allude to the subjects that I find most engaging; strange worlds, mysterious beings, epic fables...
I pick one off the shelf and smile at its colorful cover art. I open it briefly to read a paragraph and get a hint of what awaits me as a potential reader, just those few brief words draw me in, I very much want to curl up in that armchair with this book. I pick up another volume randomly from the bookshelf and am once again entranced- These are exactly the kind of books I love, this is a treasure trove! I eagerly look forward to reading every book on this shelf!
It occurs to me that I haven't even looked to see who the authors are yet, so I scan the bookshelf... they all bare the same name printed down their spines in a variety of hues and fonts. It's a surprising discovery:
The name is Garrett W Vance.
This is where I always wake up, my hand reaching out to see what wonders I have penned. As the shrouds of the dreamworld fall away I realize with a deep dissapointment that the books don't actually exist except as phantoms of what could be... of what should be.
The dream is sending me a message, the most important message I have ever received in my life: Write those books!
So, here I am. It's time to fill that shelf.