I'm sure you all know who Stephenie Meyers is by now? She's the author of the slightly popular Twilight series. Well, it was insinuated earlier this year that Meyer's ideas weren't her own, and she was guilty of the dreaded "P" word that no author wants to hear.  I'm not going to discuss plagiarism today. Nope, this is about something I find less credible.

A former student with Meyer, they roomed together at Brigham Young University, claims the ideas that Meyer is using were actually written by the former roommate as a short story back in their university days. Now, perhaps the timing of it all is coincidental, but coming forward and making such claims after the movie has made $380 million US and increased sales in the book is rather convenient. Again, this blog is not about timing of law suits, whether truthful or not. Nope, not this blog.

Meyer has stated before, and not just for this purpose, that the ideas came to her in a dream back in 2003. Seriously, a dream? Mary Shelley claimed the dream motivation as well. If I used anything I got from a dream I’d have a blank page. Am I really supposed to believe that this is what really happened? On another side tangent, but still slightly related, a girl I went to school with many years ago now lived around the block from us. She was probably the first girl to ever show an interest in me and she was really pretty (we were teenagers at the time). I just didn’t have enough self-confidence at the time to do anything about it. Anyway, before I get too deep into my impact on girls even at such a tender age... she lived with her single-parent mother after the father had run out on them. Well, her mom won the lottery, some $9 million dollars, and claimed the numbers came to her in a dream. Should have dated the girl when I had the chance. I would have been the only 16-year old on our block with a Ferrari!

Anyway... I don’t remember my dreams. I think in the history of my nap times, sleep times, and day dreams, I have only remembered about 5 or 6 dreams. And none of those are worthy of turning into a story, let alone a series of novels. I’m the unlucky bastard who can’t even remember any wet dreams he’s ever had. I know I blogged about a dream I had were I was playing poker with Robbie Williams and Anna Kournikova but I made that up. I think I stated that I made it up too so I don’t feel too bad about it.

I don’t know if it is abnormal to not remember dreams. I just don’t remember them so I don’t even know if I dream or not. I can only assume that I do but have no room left in my brain to remember anything. Whether this means my brain is full of knowledge, useless and important, or about the size of a gnat’s penis, is another matter altogether. I guess I will never know for certain. Well, they could do a scan of my brain to see the size of it but there might just be a squidgy cover over all of the important stuff that makes the brain work. The actual working brain might still be miniscule.

I guess I’m struggling with the concept that this series came to her in a dream. I struggle with that concept every time I hear someone say, “I had a dream about it”, or, “it came to me in a vision I had while sleeping”, or anything remotely close to that. Maybe I’m just upset that I don’t remember these visions I have. Maybe I’m just upset because as a teenager (and probably still do now) I woke up with a boner and no memory of what gave it to me. And maybe that is the worst thing about it. The fact I can’t remember dreams might not be so bad. The fact I can wake up with a boner when I don’t have to pee and have no recollection of the vivid fantasy that caused it is depressing. Yes, that is what this is about! Okay, it’s not, but that is depressing anyway.

I have a very active imagination. In fact, the short story I’m working on is a prime example of that imagination. But, does my imagination shut off at night and go into hibernation like some grizzly bear, fat from a summer of berries and the occasional hiker, only to re-surface 6 hours later when I wake up? It is an interesting query isn’t it? I mean, is it possible? Can it just shut itself off like coordination does when you’ve had too much vodka? Can it disappear like your sense of what a good-looking woman is when you’ve had one tequila shot too many? You know I haven’t done research so I’m just going to say that mine does.

But I just can’t believe that these things appear to people in dreams. And maybe that is the ultimate irony for a guy with such a good imagination. Maybe the fact my imagination won’t let me believe this can happen at all is just further proof that I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time when I sit down to write. Or maybe I must have some part of me grounded in realism – however unromantic it is. I mean, for example, I’m living in Saudi Arabia and have seen things here that if I were to tell you about you wouldn’t believe me – which is, again, a brilliant form of irony. The realism I get here is so unrealistic that the ability to remember dreams and base a whole series of novels around them is too much for me to take.

Then again, maybe I’m just pissed off that I can’t have those visions.