My eyes open and I jump out of bed, leaving the covers a jumbled mess. I glance at the clock on my nightstand: four in the morning. No wonder it’s still dark out. I light a candle and grab a quill and parchment. Inspiration hit while I was sleeping – that rare state of semi-conscious lucid dreaming where dreams make sense, and, perhaps more importantly, they’re easily remembered.
I put quill to paper and scribble the basic outline of the dream. The crucial plot elements, the personalities of the characters, and as many details of the setting as I can remember. I sigh. If I could just translate what I see in my head to words, I’d be a bestselling author. Instead, the vivid imagery of my dreams remains there, tantalizingly close, but forever out of reach.
Once that’s done, I turn my attention to fleshing out the story, and ensuring that the plot that makes sense in the dream world also makes sense in the real world. That’s often easier said than done. Most of my dreams are bizarre.
Closer examination indicates the dream was an amalgamation of plot elements from several different books I’d recently read. I recognize some themes right away, and I jot down notes specifying changes I need to make. There are few truly ‘new’ ideas, but this story is a new take on established themes. Once I’m confident the story can stand on its own, I start the writing process in earnest.
My initial enthusiasm hasn’t waned, so I pull out a fresh sheet of parchment and start on an opening paragraph. The all-important first hundred words or so. The text that would make or break the story – would the potential reader keep reading, or put the book back on the shelf and move on to something else entirely? My words have to be good. No, they have to be better than good. They have to be great. With so many other books jostling for the attention of an audience, it’s essential that those all-important first words be some of the best in the entire story. Something that grabs a pony’s interest by the haunches and hauls her into the story without protest. Dangle pieces of a puzzle in front of her. Make her want answers.
I dip the quill into the inkpot and ponder if I should start at the beginning, or right in the midst of the action, bringing the readers up to speed with a series of flashbacks? After they’re already hooked on needing to know what happens. Anypony can start in the middle, but I want a hook right from the beginning; a catalyst that breaks the mundanity and starts the story. I know the ending – well, that’s a lie, I know the middle. I woke before my dream made it all the way to the end, but I can already see several different potential outcomes for the ending. I put all of them down on my outline parchment, even if they aren’t relevant yet. None of those possible outcomes will change because of the intro, so I have plenty of time to pick the best one.
But first, I need to write a proper beginning. Hooks are important, but if the quality of the work immediately dips after the intro than readers will wonder if they’ve been the victim of a bait and switch. The more details the better; get the readers vested in the story early. While the memory of my dream is already fading, I can still recall the important plot points that set up the events of the main narrative. A few are silly, and are immediately discarded, but I strengthen the rest, giving them background details.
The body is the good part. The main course. The action, whether it be an adventure, a drama, a romance, or any other genre, this is what the audience is here for. This is where my dream left off – I woke, heart racing, as the action reached its peak. The challenge is to translate that pulse-quickening vision in a way that doesn’t diminish its impact, but that’s beyond my capabilities. I’ve done what I can, but I just don’t have the expertise to craft my words in a way that match what I see in my head. It’s a different story when I’m making something up from scratch, not that anyone other than me will ever have the same mental image that I do. I want to do it justice – the beautiful mixed deciduous/evergreen woods, with its high canopy and lush undergrowth. I don’t spend a lot of time outdoors, nor do I recall ever seeing a forest that matched the one in my dream. Maybe that exact location exists somewhere in Equestria, or maybe it’s completely fictional and resides only in my head.
If I had a way to record my dreams and play them back like a film, I’d be a rich mare. Instead, I have to work within the confines of my abilities. The words I put on paper will never be as good as the dream that inspired them. Every reader will use those words to paint their own interpretation of the scenes, and none of them will match my vision.
The candle has burned to the wick while I’ve been writing. I didn’t even notice. It’s light outside. A new day is dawning. I should stop and make breakfast. I pause as I look at the sun’s position in the sky. No, that’s not right. It’s evening. Princess Celestia is lowering the sun, not raising it. I’ve been sitting here at my desk all day writing. I haven’t eaten. I vaguely remember grabbing a drink of water at some point in the morning while I was formulating my thoughts. My throat’s absolutely parched, and I didn’t even take notice. One more paragraph and then I’ll make dinner. Maybe two or three…
Then after dinner… editing. Culling these beautiful words until only the best survive.
Author's Note
Story notes: https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/941106/story-notes-four-in-the-morning
