Thoughts of not getting my collection of stories finished bring back to mind this wonderful nightmare I had some time back ... Wrote this in my paper journal back then.
Woke up in a panic, heart pounding. I felt totally bereft, as if someone close to me had died or been lost from me forever.
In my dream, I was carrying the manuscript of my anthology of short stories to be published and was on my way to Raman's shop. It was tucked under my arm in a FedEx envelope. I decided to take a short cut, and even though there was a sign saying “Danger – Keep Away”, I was arrogant enough to ignore it. I found myself on the side of a very tall building which had a decorative edging of stepped bricks (I think it was Menara Millenium though at the same time it reminded me of a Mayan ziggurat) down which I had to ascend. I could see Bangsar spread out below me and Silverfish in the distance.
There was nothing at all to hold onto. The envelope slipped from under my arm, and there were the sheets of my manuscript, fluttering away from me and getting jammed between the ledges below. (I couldn’t see any words at all on the pages.) If I tried to reach out to pick them up, I’d lose my balance and fall. And as they fell I saw that each page was ... blank.