We’re editing together, head to head. It’s a bio, a blurb, maybe something in between. He’s Neil Gaiman, (I know Amanda is behind me, reading something else) and he’s mumbling a bit, as he re-reads the text: words flow until they get stuck. I take it from the place he left off.
—I think that what it should say is… the British voice that became a classic of American literature.
To this, his eyes light up, because it solves the problem we were having with the previous sentence, because it works. Also, it’s a compliment. And he kisses me, and it’s a long, dry, closed lips kiss of thanks, and in dreams, time stops if you want it to.
This is what dreams are for. I wake up hugging a scantly clad man with a messy mane of black hair, and an (increasingly) salt-and-pepper beard. My head is in his shoulder: we’re really close together, because our 4 year old child has invaded my side of the bed. Again.
—I dreamt Neil Gaiman liked my writing so much that he kissed me. We were working together. Can you imagine? Writing and editing with Gaiman, and he likes my writing and enthusiastically approves.
—Sounds awesome.
—It was.
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PS: Yes, I might be watching too many Neil and Amanda videos on YouTube. I think the dream was kind of inspired in this photo, of which I wrote:
Neil Gaiman is the man I would marry if he weren’t married to the woman I would marry and I weren’t married to the person I did marry and their marriage sounds a lot like mine.
If you want to imagine Pablo and me editing stuff together, just look above.
This is (sometimes literally) the job of my dreams: please note that this is me in my dreams behaviour, this would not be appropriate in a professional setting. ;P
