Among my dreams last night were two which related to writing and publishing, one set in the world of science fiction and horror, the other in comics.

In the first, at about 3:00 a.m., I was at a convention in a packed room. I was sitting next to my old pal Gene O’Neill in an audience of several hundred. We were there because he was about to give a talk and reading, and I was supposed to introduce him. We each held manuscripts in our hands. As I was being called to the podium to say a few words to lead into his presentation, Gene slipped me a page containing a description of his latest novel, which I assume had to be this one, though in the dream it remained unidentified. I waved him off, telling him that if I used his words instead of my own, people would sense me parroting him, and never believe all the good things I was about to say about it. I woke before the talk began, but with the mood happy and us both enjoying ourselves.

I assume that this dream came about because of that new book, Lost Tribe, showing up in the mail last week, but also because we were both on HWA’s preliminary Stoker ballot, and the final ballot should be announced any moment—in fact, I was expecting to hear yea or nay over the weekend—so it’s very much on my mind. My fingers are crossed that we get to see each other in June as nominees.

In the second dream, at around 6:00 a.m., I was working on staff at DC Comics in the present day. (Though in real life I’d freelanced at DC, I’d only ever worked on staff at Marvel, as per that icon above, smurched from my company ID.) I sat in a window office filled with comics trinkets and comic books, poring through papers on my desk. I was aware of where I was, only … I had no memory of being hired there or what my job was supposed to be. Nothing I found in my office could help me remember. I realized that I had a strange kind of amnesia, and I thought if I wandered the office, something might spark my memory.

I eventually got to the bullpen, which was filled with dozens of artists hunched over drawing boards, doing their art there, rather than at home. The large room was decorated like a comics shop, with statues and comics lining the walls. As I moved between the tables, I got into a conversation with one of the artists about how strange it was that the comics field these days operated (in the dream, at least) just like it did in the ’40s, with artists coming in to work in studios rather than freelancing at home, and we wondered how long it would be before those working in the field forgot they ever freelanced at home at all. I had a number of jovial conversations schmoozing with the artists, but I never did remember what my official job at DC was supposed to be. But by the time I woke, it didn’t really matter to me any more.

I think the reason this comics-related dream came about was because of this post I read yesterday over at the fun site Silver Age Comics, in which sales figures for DC’s 1962 titles were listed, showing that Superman‘s circulation used to be an amazing 5,920,000 per issue! So the old days were on my mind, and I guess those thoughts somehow merged with the new.

But that’s enough of dream, for the work week begins!