I’ve always been jealous of Nancy and Kat and the other Eight Ladies who can go to bed thinking about their story and actually dream up things that will happen. I hardly ever remember my dreams.
Until last night.
Yesterday afternoon, I read the latest issue of RWA’s Romance Writer’s Report (our industry trade journal). In the Sold! column was a little blurb about a writer I met at RWA last July who has signed a 3-book deal with St. Martin’s Press. She and I were both finalists in the Beau Monde’s Royal Ascot (a contest for us Regency writers).
Last night, in my dream, I was sitting with one of the Eight Ladies (I can’t remember who) and some famous, published author (again, I can’t remember who). I don’t even remember where we were. I’ve never been good on details in my dreams. Anyway, I mentioned my colleague’s success and both the Eight Lady and the Famous Writer offered their congratulations in the form of, “Oh, good for her,” and “Very well done.”
Keeping my eyes on my hands, which were folded in my lap, I offered a half-hearted “Yeah, it’s great.” The Famous Writer turned to me and asked what was wrong. With a careless shrug of my shoulders, I told her that I was very happy for my colleague, but was slightly bummed that it wasn’t me who was signing the 3-book deal with SMP.
The Famous Writer leaned in, her face right in mine, and without even blinking, said four very important words:
“Finish the damn book.”
So that’s what I’m off doing.
I wish all of you a warm, bright, and happy holiday.