I dreamt last night that I was staying at a beach house with friends, among them John Clute, Paul Di Filippo, and the character Rajnesh Koothrappali from the TV series The Big Bang Theory (as opposed to Kunal Nayyar, the actor who portrays him).

Those of us who aren’t Indian are cooking up our specialties so that Raj can experience other cuisines. I wish I could remember what John and Paul whipped up, but I can’t. However, I decided to make bagels, which my real-life self hasn’t prepared in a while, but which I once used to bake quite often.

I tore through the small kitchen looking not only for the proper ingredients, but also for the correct implements, such as cookie sheets and a pot big enough in which to boil the bagels. But I couldn’t find them, and so I suddenly found myself transported to the streets of Queens, where I’m searching for what I need.

I end up buying them from an old Japanese lady, and wake during the transaction, never making it back to the beach house.

So no bagels for you, guys!

I had a wretched night’s sleep, and was up multiple times. I figure this was because I’m in the middle of putting the latest issue of SCI FI magazine to bed, and so I kept finding myself awake thinking, “Can I really afford to sleep?” But then I’d force myself to drop off again, because I knew I’d be no good if I attacked the mound of work while fatigued. A side effect of these frequent bouts of consciousness was a plethora of dreams, and each time I woke, I scribbled one down.

In the first dream, I was at a Readercon. I bumped into Texas Triffid Ranch there, whom I haven’t seen in a decade, not since an earlier Readercon at which he shaved his head mid-con. I couldn’t stop for as long as I wanted to so we could catch up, though, because I was late for a panel. I don’t know about you guys, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the cliched dreams of being at school and realizing I didn’t study for a test, or that I’d forgotten to do my homework. For me, anxiety now turns into dream by me being at conventions and unable to find my panels. And so it was this time, symbolizing, I assume, my real-life rush to meet my waking deadline. So I wandered the hotel, unable to find the correct room. Even though I never made it to the panel, my worries faded when I ran into Barack Obama. I sat with him for awhile in the lobby of the hotel, and everything then seemed all right. Wow, that guy can do anything! (more…)

In this morning’s dream, I’m very aware that I have an appointment to get together with Kim Newman at a specific time, but instead I find myself in the back seat of a moving car sorting potatoes. I’ve got about a bushel’s worth of baking potatoes in a paper bag, and I’m transferring them to a box, arranging them in neat rows as I do so. As I admire my handiwork, I suddenly realize that in the front of the car are Harlan and Susan Ellison. Harlan is driving, while Susan is in the passenger seat.

Susan tells me that she wished I’d have let them buy the potatoes, because there’s no way I could have found any as good as the ones they could have picked up. I insist that I’ve managed to find absolutely perfect potatoes. As Harlan drives, he reaches back so I can place one in his hand. He looks at it and says that he knows where to find better. He speeds up, while I wonder how long this is going to take and whether this trip is going to end with me standing up Kim Newman. (more…)

I dreamt this morning that I was once more back at the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop. In the real world, I had attended as a student in 1979, and then returned to teach in 1999 and 2003, and in my sleep I was teaching again.

I had just arrived, and the administrator was giving me a tour of the facilities. We were on the floor of the dorm in which the students were housed, and I had to duck my head the entire time, because the ceiling was very low, much like floor 7 1/2 in the film Being John Malkovich. I was unable to stand up straight, and had to hunch over as I walked down the hall. Bemused by this, I told my guide that I didn’t remember the ceilings having been so low any of the previous times I’d been there. But I accepted the change.

At the end of the hall, we arrived at a student lounge where the ceilings were back to normal. Darrell Schweitzer was there. It turned out that he was going to be one of the teachers that year, which seemed strange to me, since I know that in reality he attended the workshop long, long ago, but I don’t think that he ever returned to teach there. We then headed toward the cafeteria for a breakfast with the students, and along the way I was amazed by how clean and well-decorated the walls were.

It was as if we were in a museum rather than a university building, with white walls adorned with framed book covers and science-fiction movie posters. I complimented my guide on how they’d changed the place since I was there last, and then suddenly, real life intruded in a way, as I realized that Clarion was no longer being held at Michigan State University, and I was therefore somewhere else. But in the dream, I couldn’t remember where I was. I had no idea what facility or even what state I was in. (more…)

I had a dream this morning in which I was flying to a football game. And when I say flying, I mean without a plane. I was swooping through the air along city streets, like a superhero, but never more than a couple of dozen feet above the ground. I soon realized that I wasn’t in the air under my own power—the only reason I appeared to be aloft was that I was dangling at the end of a wire attached to a moving crane.

When I got to the stadium, it suddenly came to me that I wasn’t just there to attend a game—I was actually the new owner. And I was the coach as well. I know nothing about football (or any other sport, really; that’s just the way I am), so luckily my pal Gene O’Neill, with whom I attended the Clarion Writing Workshop back in 1979, was there to advise me. Good thing, too, because I desperately needed to pick his brain. For some reason he was dressed quite formally, in a business suit, as if ready for church or a wedding, while I was my usual casual self.

As we spoke, I was sitting at a table and flipping through the sports sections of various newspapers, trying to glean as much information as I could about football, but also trying to figure out the name of the team of which I was now in charge, because I couldn’t seem to access that memory. I woke while doing that, riffling the pages and scanning headlines, just as I realized that the team for which I was now responsible was the Bears.

In a small snippet of a larger dream, I’m sitting across from Robert Silverberg at a long table while I open my mail, which for at least 15 years—ever since I started editing science-fiction magazines—has consisted not just of envelopes, but of many packages filled with books, DVDs, toys, etc.

As I tear through the parcels and leave the detritus at my feet, I come across a small box with a return address of Wes’ Rib House.

“Ah,” I say in satisfaction, for this what I’d been waiting for.

“Oh?” says Bob. I rip open the box and show Bob the package of rib rub I’d ordered.

Bob, seeing the name on the spices, comments that he recognizes it as a restaurant in Chicago, but when I correct him to say that Wes’ is in Rhode Island, he continues to insist that the place is in Chicago. Even though I’m right, and have eaten there many times in real life, I begin to doubt myself in the dream.

Because after all, it is Robert Silverberg.

We contradict each other for awhile, and then the dream moves on …

I had two publishing-related dreams during the night. (Actually, I had many dreams during the night, as I always do, but these are the only two I feel inclined to share.)

In the first, I was at a World Horror Convention in Saratoga Springs, which was a little odd, since the World Horror Convention has never been held there. I was having a discussion with Michael Marano, who in the dream was acting as my lawyer!

We were suing on behalf of Bob Dylan for the rights to some of his old songs (though why we were responsible for doing that I have no idea), and were discussing how we’d made an offer to the corporation which we were about to sue, which, if accepted, would forestall the lawsuit. But we hadn’t heard anything back yet, and as we talked, we worked ourselves up into a frenzy of self-righteousness.

We decided to leave the con right then and file those papers at the Saratoga Springs courthouse. (Which even in the dream didn’t quite make sense, because I knew even while asleep that you can only sue people in certain venues.) (more…)

I had a dream this morning (as I so often do) in which I was attending a science-fiction convention. It started out with me sitting in a room which was decorated more like a Victorian parlor than a hotel meeting room. It was like something out of a Sherlock Holmes story. A group of us sat watching slides being projected on one wall. While I remember it as being entertaining, I can unfortunately no longer recall what we were watching or who was with me in the room.

But then I got up and wandered. I saw that there were many people standing immediately outside the hotel entrance in the dark night. I was about to step out to join them when a hotel employee warned me that the doors would lock once I left and that I wouldn’t be able to get back in. I stepped out anyway and stood chatting with Jay Lake, Walter Jon Williams, and Lucius Shepard.

The only part of the conversation I can still remember is when I was speaking to Walter about “the dog Snoopy,” and then I stopped and commented on what I’d just said, finding it silly. Because when mentioning Snoopy, isn’t the fact that he’s a dog a given, and so saying “the dog Snoopy” is redundant? (more…)

In a dream this morning, Irene and I were working for the same company, though I had no idea what it was or what we did there. We were getting ready to leave for the day, but before we did, I had to find my jacket.

When I finally did, it was one of my leather ones, but sadly, it was covered with a white mold. I looked further and found a second one of my leather jackets, and that one was also covered with mold. As I began wiping away the mold, someone walked by out in the hallway, and I when I turned I was startled to see that it was John Verpoorten. He was hectoring some poor freelancer for being late with an assignment.

“But … he’s dead,” I said to Irene. (In the real world, John, who’d been the production manager at Marvel Comics, died in 1977.)

Irene explained to me that it had become the fashion nowadays for people to disguise themselves as John. Everybody was doing it. Only those of us who’d known John could see through the disguise.

The bogus John moved on, and Irene and I moved out into the hall. Paul Levitz was there, who in the real world I’ve known since the early ’70s, as this photo proves. This Paul was the Paul of today, though, and I suddenly realized that the office we were in belonged to DC Comics, and that I had just started working on staff there.

I asked Paul whether I’d now have to salute him, and jokingly raised my fingers to my forehead. (Paul had edited some of my comic-book stories when I freelanced for DC, but unlike Irene, I was never on staff, so this was the first time he’d officially be my boss.) He said that it wouldn’t be necessary.

And then I woke.

I woke in the middle of the night from a dream in which I was one of four young boys in an urban environment helping someone move.

We were loading boxes into a moving van, and at one point the owner drove his car up a ramp at the rear and on into the van. When he came back outside and began folding up the ramp, it slipped, and ended up hitting him in the head multiple times. There was blood everywhere.

At this point, I suddenly realized, like one of those characters in novels who suddenly become aware that they’re in a novel, that I was one of the four kids from The Wire—only I had no idea which one I was.

I knew, though, that my odds of success in life or even of just survival weren’t very good, so I struggled to figure out my identity. Was I Michael, or Dukie, or … ?

Then I was awake. I was extremely unsettled, and it took me awhile to fall back to sleep, which is unusual for me.