Saturday, January 9, 2010

On Dreams

I don't ever recall having a real dream when I was a little boy. I never aspired to be a firefighter, or a professional athlete, as I don't like being hot, nor can I hit a 100 mile per hour fastball.

In high school, I excelled in psychology, history and Enlgish, but none of those things really screamed career to me.

Over the years, I toyed with the idea of becoming a police officer, an English teacher, even a pro wrestler. Ok, stop laughing at the last part, it's perfectly true.

Over the last few years, given my affinity for writing, my love of words, I decided that the idea of writing a book was an appealing one to me. I've started dozens, but never gotten beyond a few pages. o subject has ever really grabbed me. I have what I think are brilliant ideas, and they later turn out to be boring, or topics that I just can't sink my teeth into.

A lofty dream I know, but I would love to write the great American novel.

I had an idea yesterday to begin writing the definitive work on Charles Dickens. A biography. The only roadblock there is that know nothing about him. I've enjoyed a couple of his books, but beyond that, I'm stumped. It's also likely that I'll end up hating this idea as well.

In fact, as I'm writing about it, I'm losing interest.

I've thought for several years that I'd love to do a work on Charles Bukowski and his library of works. But several people have already done it. Which doesn't mean that I couldn't be the next, as Bukowski's life had layers that may not be discovered for decades.

I long for the moment when I'm struck by a great idea. Maybe in a dream, maybe while driving, possibly while in the shower, as these are typically the three places in which my "brilliant" ideas come about.

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