I dreamed last night that i was at this heinous work thing (apparently I had been promoted by leaps and bounds – ugh), and my old division manager was hoarding a bunch of messages that were coming in for me because she didn’t want me to leave.

When she finally handed me the pile of messages, there was one (and these are the few that I actually remember “reading” in the dream) from Gary Snyder telling me to stop writing haiku because they were too sing-songy and were wasting my talent. He told me to stop being afraid.

There was another note from another writer telling me to stop being afraid.

Then there was a highfalutin invitation from a prestigious (yet fictional, I think) writers union giving me a full membership and that it didn’t matter that I was hoarding poetry and prose, and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t published much.

It’s those kinds of dreams that make me wonder why I keep spending time doing everything else when I should just be sitting here writing and working on this craft.

Must make more time to write. Period. Full stop. The. End.