Telling stories

Last night, I had a dream.

I dreamed that I was working in a bookstore.  I noticed an author browsing near his own works.  There was a kid looking at the books the author wrote, but he didn’t have enough money to buy one of them.

The author noticed the kid too, and not only bought the kid one of his books, but signed it as well.  The kid’s mother was appreciative, and told the author that she was trying to write too.  She asked for any words of advice.

The author said “There is a difference between telling a story and being a storyteller.”

This being a dream, everyone nodded knowingly, and then I woke up.

I don’t know what it means, or even if it means anything at all.  Perhaps I’ve just been feeling guilty that I’ve been neglecting my blog and/or writing.

It’s been so hard to concentrate, lately.  I feel like I’ve been drowning in a sea of bad news, and yet I don’t have anything in particular on my mind, and therefore don’t have anything to write about.

I’ve been trying to focus on the good, for instance, as I write this, Sis and the Bro-in-Law at the courthouse finalizing E’s adoption.  They will take him to the temple to be sealed as a family for time and all eternity on Saturday.  It’s strange–with G, the six month period that Utah state law dictates for an adoption to be finalized seemed like it took forever, but with E, it feels like it snuck up on us.

I guess right now, I need to be focusing on my family and on my future.  One’s a lot scarier than the other.

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One response to “Telling stories”

  1. The Parent says :

    Come on. Give us a break. We really are not as scary as you think!

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