Dream of:12 October 1996 "Books Of Dreams"
After my father and my mother had entered the room, my father began talking with me. He looked to be in the prime of life – thin, vigorous, dark black hair. I was at first surprised by what he said. He knew I had been compiling a book of my dreams, and he said he would like to read it. This was entirely unprecedented; my father had never expressed any interest in reading any of my dreams. To the contrary, he had always manifested a disdainful contempt of the whole idea of my writing dreams, and especially of my intention of compiling the garnered dreams into a book.
It occurred to me what had probably happened. I had been showing my dreams to several knowledgeable people and had received favorable comment and encouragement from them. The novel idea of compiling certain of my dreams into book form had appealed to these people. Obviously my father must have spoken to someone who had seen the auspicious potential of my proposed book. My father now realized that my idea wasn't as crazy as he had always thought, and that I did indeed have potential as an author. He now belatedly had therefore decided to express some sanguine interest in my project.
I felt somewhat ambivalent about his new-found enthusiasm. I didn't feel hard at him because he only now for the first time wanted to read my dreams; but I also didn't feel excited because of his nascent interest. Mostly I felt a little cautious, a little uncertain of what his reaction to the dreams might be. Nevertheless, other than a slight apprehension, I felt no reluctance to letting him read the dreams.
However, I immediately began explaining a problem to him. He knew little or nothing of the method I intended to follow in writing the books. I planned to compile several different books, each book having one central theme. The first books most likely would follow the theme of my immediate family: my father, my mother, and my sister, since they were the people who had appeared in more of my dreams than anybody. I might also compile a book about Carolina, and later one about God. However, even though I had already spent much time in writing my dreams and preparing them for the books, I hadn't actually compiled the dreams into book form. This compilation was itself a daunting task which I had only just begun.
I tried to explain this to my father, adding that he had appeared in more of my dreams than anyone. I explained that it was therefore simply not possible at the moment for him to read a book, because no book was yet ready. Suddenly a thought came to me: it might be possible that he could read some of the dreams and that he might even be able to help me in the process. I spoke up again, and told him I might be able to give him a sample of some of the prospective books. I could compile the first 15 pages of the three books about him, my mother, and my sister. He could read all three and tell me which one he liked best.
This plan seemed workable to me, because I could not only obtain my father's feedback on these three initial books, I could form a better idea myself of which book looked best. I knew my father wouldn't be seeing my best material, since my early dreams weren't as well-written as my later ones. However, the first dreams should give him a taste of what I was doing, enough so he could judge the project in general and the individual books in particular. It seemed like a good working idea to me.
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