Last night I had a dream that Harper Lee was in love with Ernest Hemingway, but he was not reciprocating. Harper Lee was losing it to Truman Capote over the situation… and Truman Capote appeared as a woman in the dream. Most odd was that he was fumbling with an armful of arrows. And I remember thinking how upset Ernest Hemingway was going to be when he discovered Truman Capote being so careless with his arrows.
I never dream about writers. I admit some envy of the writers who do get regular visits from other writers. (Kelli Russell Agodon comes to mind… I’d love a whole blog devoted to collecting dream encounters with writers! Imagine the bizarre wisdom we could uncover.)
So it was a nice change to see writers in my dream, although none of them were talking to me. None of them had anything profound to say in general. But it was nice to be in the company of writers, at least in sleep. (And the idea of Harper Lee falling for Ernest Hemingway was especially funny once I woke up.)