On the Neuroses of Writers

Had a bizarre dream last night that I think is a good example of how neurotic some creative types are. It went something like this:

The actual beginning is hazy, but after some criticism of Werewolves: Call of the Wild, I’m told to call someone for a little advice, and I’m given a phone number.

That person turns out to be Glenn Danzig. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Maybe because of his reputation, maybe because he’s a comics and horror fan, maybe because he ran Verotik comics. This is just how dreams work. But as I’m staring at the number, this is when the dream really begins. I’m sitting in what appears to be a library, but I get the impression I’m also home and I have a standard, corded telephone. I dial.

Danzig answers. “Yo.”

I stammer out a brief introduction and why I’m calling.

“Oh, sure. I know that book. You know, Mike, you scored pretty good on your ACT test. This book really doesn’t reflect that.”

How would Danzig know or care what the scores of a college achievement exam I took as a junior in high school are? What does that have to do with writing comics? These also mystify me, but again, this is just how dreams work. And in the dream I’m feeling a little embarrassed. We talk for a few more minutes, which is also hazy.
“Hold on a minute,” Danzig says. “I need to make a phone call.”

He puts the phone down. It’s quiet. I’m fidgeting with my Moleskine, and waiting for friends to show up. We’re planning to have a brainstorming session on the various projects we’re all working on. Suddenly I can hear him talking on the other end, and he’s called the guidance counselor at the school district I work for so she can look up some things about me. I don’t know how I know this or how she can just look things up without my having a transcript mailed to her, but that’s dream reality for you.

“So how were his ISAT scores?” Danzing asks. These were an old state standard achievement test and also have no relevance, but somehow in my head they’re akin to an IQ test. A pause as Danzig listens. “That bad, huh?”

I want to scream at the phone: “but I only took half the test!” Which isn’t true. And we never get our own scores back anyway; standardized tests are only a way for the state to measure how schools are doing around the state. Dream reality strikes again.

Danzig’s conversation with the counselor continues on this course. I’m frustrated and humiliated. At this point my friends arrive. I quickly hang up the phone and stuff the phone number in my pocket. I want to tell them I was just talking to Danzig, but am embarrassed and angry and just want to get to work on our stuff.

We circle up around the table. I have no Earthly idea who any of these people are, but again, in my dream I know they are friends and fellow writers. They’re carrying legal pads and notebooks and pencils. I start to talk about working on one of their projects and jot a few things in the Moleskine, and look up to see them all staring at me.

“Yeah, about that, Mike…” one of them says. “We think we need to work on that story you started last week. It really needs some work.”

At this point the alarm went off. “More Human than Human” blared from the clock radio. Rob Zombie to the rescue, which I found funny.

And there you have it: I’m a neurotic freak.