The other night I went to bed before 11pm, which is noteworthy in itself. I’d had a really busy day and I just wanted to read. I read and read and would have liked to read some more, but I started to drift off.
I fell into one of those weird waking dreams you get just before you fall asleep. You know the ones – you might carry on in the descent to sleep or you might snap yourself awake again. This was weird, but not that weird. It kind of made sense and I snapped myself awake again.
I was walking onto the stage at Cheltenham Literature Festival and I was going to talk about my blog and do a bit of stand-up comedy. And my mum and dad were in the audience. And that’s it.
Doesn’t sound a lot, does it? Now I’m not one of these hippy-dippy people that interprets dreams, but this one seemed somehow significant. It was TELLING me something. (Yeah, I know, I’m probably talking crap, but bear with me.)
First – my blog is important to me and I’m always particularly pleased when it’s funny. I’d love to make it funny all the time, but sometimes the humour isn’t there and I can’t do it.
Secondly – I love reading, I love books and I love talking about books, so I’d love to go to the literature festival. But I have neither the time, the money nor the necessary floaty scarves and flowing skirts, so I don’t go.
Third – my mum and dad go to the literature festival. They go to event after event. And, here’s the thing. They HARDLY READ. When I’m having a stroppy teenager moment (and I have a few) I think that’s NOT FAIR. I’m the one who reads, I should be the one who goes to the literature festival.
Finally – my mum and dad don’t like me blogging. They don’t like me airing my dirty laundry in public. They don’t understand the compulsion to share the minutiae of my life with everyone. They think I’m naive, they think I don’t realise anyone anywhere in the world could be reading. (I DO! And if they were I would be very pleased because it would mean my blog was a success.)
I’d like nothing more than to tell my mum and dad my blog was making money (it isn’t), has helped me get a newspaper column (it hasn’t) or has won an award (it hasn’t) because these are tangible indicators of success. And these tangible indicators of success might show my mum and dad that I’m right to do what I do and that it is ‘normal’ and acceptable and isn’t putting anyone at risk.
I would like to blog with their backing and support. And that’s what I think my waking dream was all about.