My friend Mike Oliveri already posted a fun entry on The Neuroses of Writers, but after the dream I had last night, I feel I can contribute.
So, last night I dreamed all the horror writers lived in one booze-fueled commune.Â Keene and Oliveri were there, as were a host of others, all people I’ve read or hung out with.Â We were stuck at this commune, hanging out and talking alot, but not getting much writing done.Â Hell, I don’t think I saw a single laptop, typewriter, or pad of paper in the entire place.Â
Okay, there was one large piece of paper, but that paper was a schedule with all of our names on it.Â See, when not writing, we were expected to man several of the area McDonalds stores, making burgers and fries for the populace.Â Damn, that sucks! you might be thinking.Â Who’d make you do such a thing?
That’s where the evil Amish come in.
See, the commune was run by a group of oppressive, almost fascist Amish folks who gave us lashes if we were caught drinking and made us buy newspapers.Â I woke up just as I was about to be tortured for missing my McDonalds shift.Â I decided to stay and party instead.
I’m no dream analyst, but it probably doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the now-sober writer who feels pressed for time and desperately needs to pull some research for his latest project is having a dream about being punished for drinking, missing work, and failing to stay informed.
Anybody else out there have some fun stress dreams?