This entry's going to be quite a ride, folks, so strap in and hang on.

A recent post by another BCTS blogger on the subject of dreams and creativity reminded me that dreams can be a wonderful muse--and a maddeningly frustrating one. Submitted for your approval, as Rod Serling would have said:

About 25 years ago I remember dreaming that I was watching a PBS children's show, one in which they read a story. "Reading Rainbow" or something similar. There was one (entirely different) program I recall in which an artist drew pictures as the story was being told--it could have been that.

Regardless of what it was, I noticed in my dream that a featured book had my name on it--a book I had not yet written. A broadcast from some unspecified future date that managed to work its way through the time stream back to my present.

I remember that it was about a little Hispanic girl, and some parts of the story had Spanish dialogue (when I was in college, I was so immersed in the language I dreamed in it). The girl's name is Matilda, and while basically a good kid, she could be a pest. She loved to imitate other people around her, much to their irritation.

One day she happens upon a bird whose wing is caught on a piece of trash. Matilda frees the bird, only to find it is actually a bruja--a good witch--in the form of a mockingbird. In gratitude, the witch grants Matilda the power to shapeshift--now, she can not only imitate everything (and everyone) around her, she can become that thing. (We the readers know it's her, because her eyes--and sometimes her hair--stay the same. For those of you old enough to remember, imagine a female "Tom Terrific.").

The witch warns her that it's a great gift she's been given, and should be used to help others. Matilda however, being a kid, only thinks about the fun she'll have. Inevitably she gets in trouble (though exactly how was lost to me) and has to be rescued by the witch, after which she's given the standard "with great power comes great responsibility" lecture. It apparently was supposed to be the start of a series of books featuring the character.

Upon waking, however, the details quickly faded--I lost a critical section of the middle, the part in which she gets in trouble and learns her lesson. I ended up with only the title--Mocking Matilda--and about half the story. It would have been a perfect children's book, had I remembered those details, particularly what limits to put on the child's power so she doesn't end up hurting herself in her transformed state.

Now, I should stress I am not a believer in reincarnation. I did, however, once have a dream that could be interpreted as either wishful thinking or a past-life memory come to the surface, depending on one's point of view. If I've mentioned it here before, do forgive me, but it does tie in with the subject of this blog entry.

In the dream I find myself on my back in the cavernous back seat of a '46 Ford. I look at my hands and body only to discover I'm much smaller, and can see wisps of blond hair as well.I learn immediately that I'm about eight, perhaps nine, with an older sister about fifteen. I notice I have a heavy, old-fashioned metal brace on my right leg. I instantly know the girl had polio, but didn't know how I knew this.

Sitting up, I look out of the car window and see a number of vintage cars, some of them with tail fins--the year 1958 pops into my head. April of '58, to be exact.

My "parents" in the dream are apparently well-to-do, enough to have a large boat moored off Nantucket. We're supposed to travel from there to visit relatives in Nova Scotia, which I as the girl had apparently been chattering about the whole trip.

The scene suddenly shifts to the dock, and my "father" is holding my hand as I walk up the gangway onto the deck of the boat. I can actually feel his hand in mine. I notice I'm wearing a yellow dress that was a bit thin for the weather (but I apparently insisted upon wearing it) and could feel the breeze on my bare legs, as well as the weight of the brace.

The scene shifts again and I discover I'm in the sleeping quarters, in bed, during a deadly storm. It's utter chaos, and no one notices me. Without my brace I can't stand or walk, and the boat is pitching so severely back and forth that I probably couldn't have walked even if I were wearing it. I'm screaming for help, and...I wake up.

The dream unnerved me so much I shook for about twenty minutes.

Once I calmed down, however, it was obvious to me that I'd incorporated elements of my current life in the "past" one of my dream, so it was unlikely to be a past-life dream.

At least I hope not.

Though if it were, it would provide a ready explanation for my current transgender state, wouldn't it?

It seems like fertile material for a story, which would take the form of a mystery novel. But when I came up with "Annabelle's Slow Drag"--another story idea with a reincarnation theme--I abandoned the idea of turning the dream into a suitable novel. I might decide to revisit it, however, as I have a little more to work with using that premise than I do with the other one.

(Minor edits to remove parts I feared would be misunderstood--Rachel).