Last night I dreamt that ericjamesstone and I were hanging out. (Which would be fun if it happened IRL.) We’d had lunch and gone walking in a greenspace on a college campus, talking politics. He went to his car to get something, and I was mugged by a drunk homeless guy and his dog while Eric was gone. I was mortally afraid this idiot would punch me in the gut, where my surgical seam is, so I ran into a classroom building, where I met Vonda McIntyre. Moments later I was in a seminar room full of Pacific Northwest writers — brendacooper, Jim Fiscus, Jerry Oltion, a bunch of other folks. I’d been scheduled to moderate a panel on shared world building, and was utterly unprepared, and even unaware.
Is this the writer equivalent of the college anxiety dream about having to take the final exam for the class you thought you’d dropped before the semester started? I woke up laughing at myself.