Dreams

Last night, I had an incredibly vivid dream, in which I had partial writing credit on two movies coming out this summer.

One was something awful called "Winter Passing", an action film set on a ferry starring Halle Berry. Not only had I apparently not been on the set of this film (much less met Halle), but in the dream I couldn't even remember being paid.

I did check the credits; I was one of four writers to get story by credit. I explained to someone in the dream that my original script was a romance, with only a single scene on a ferry. I was determined to call producer Joel Silver, and get myself a check.

(Note: in the real world, this script doesn't exist. Neither does the movie).

The second movie was something I was so vague on that when I tried to google it -- in my dream -- all I could remember was that it started with a G.

I'd also apparently sold another script. Title? "Chimp To Champ".

And then I woke up, and realized that none of it was true. Was I jubilant?

No. I was sad. I was actually disappointed that even this minor, minor, minor success wasn't true.

What's wrong with me? Shouldn't my film dreams involve piles of money, a box office/critical smash, and a hot tub with Scarlett Johannsen?

Or even nightmares involving Andy Dick being cast as my female lead?

Instead, I get this weirdness. I don't even like Halle Berry that much (okay, she's cute, but her film choices, ack).

Maybe I'm tapping into some parallel dimension, a land where I'm a sad working hack writer, instead of a happy-enough amateur one.

But "Chimp to Champ"? Yikes.

Even in my dreams, I need a better career plan.