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  • November 3rd, 2008 | 10:45 AM
another dream to decipher

For the last week my question I ask myself before bed is "Who am I?" It may sound like a silly question but I am interested in what my subconscious pulls up.

Last night I had a dream that I was going to New York to meet with my editor.  I've only been to New York once before, when I went to teach at Chautauqua, and I didn't really see much of the New York I imagined (busy streets, brownstones, etc.)

In my dream I was on a bus with a bunch of people, not a normal bus but more like cable car sort of thing. The driver stopped. For some reason I got off. No suitcase. No purse. Nothing. Just me. I looked back at the driver who was standing on the steps of the bus, the only way to get on.  He clutched his chest, his heart perhaps, in excruciating pain. Then he yelled something horribly scary. I don't know what but it scared me too much to move. I didn't move toward him and I didn't run away.

Then he turned around, got back on the bus, and drove away. Without me.

I freaked out.

I ran into the nearest building. The only thing I could think of was to find my agent and to find my hotel. I was staying at a hotel that started with the letter C. That's all I could remember about it. The building I walked into was a restaurant, a big old style diner with tons of open space, slow pace, and nothing I would have expected to see in New York. I explained the situation and the waitress brought me a phone book so I could look for the hotel. There were only 3 hotels that started with the letter C. That seemed insane for a place as big as New York. Then I looked at the cover of the phone book. It said Metairie, Louisiana. (Metairie is a town not far from where I lived in New Orleans.)

I ran to the next building. It was a room filled with people playing video games. Every room had a different game and different players. No one could see what my problem was. No one understood that there was anything wrong with being dumped in a strange place with only the clothes on my back.

I remembered I had my cell phone and I called my agent.

She didn't know what I was talking about. She had no idea why I was in New York.

I went back to the restaurant, no longer sure if I was in New York or Lousiana. But it wasn't a restaurant anymore. It was an office building and the manager came out to the reception area and said she would take me where I needed to go. We headed out to her car and I woke up.

This one I can't figure out, at least not just yet.


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There are so many stories only you can tell.Tell them, please.


Who am I?I was born on the Cancer/Leo cusp and share a birthday with Ernest Hemingway and Robin Williams. The similarities don't stop there as I can go from depressed to ecstatic without ever passing go. I feel scared most of the time though my friends call me brave and I find it easier to believe in my friends than to believe in my own abilities to make what I want out of my life.

Who am I? A wife, a mother, a daughter, and even, gulp, a grandmother.

Who am I? A writer who never gets tired of playing with words, even when the words are hard to find. A writer of books for children and articles for grown-ups and many things in-between.

Who am I? A motivational speaker, writing instructor, workshop leader and full-time follower of dreams.

Who am I? Read and find out.

Susan Taylor Brown

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"Successful writers are not the ones who write the best sentences. They are the ones who keep writing. They are the ones who discover what is most important and strangest and most pleasurable in themselves, and keep believing in the value of their work, despite the difficulties."
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"As writers, we must be willing to feel our sadness, our anger, our terror, so we can reach in and find our sweet vulnerability that is just sitting there waiting for us to come back home."
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"Writers write about what obsesses them. You draw those cards. I lost my mother when I was 14. My daughter died at the age of 6. I lost my faith as a Catholic. When I'm writing, the darkness is always there. I go where the pain is."
--Anne Rice


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