Lately I've been having a spate of what "normal" people call good dreams. Y'know, pleasant romps through worlds filled with days of sunshine and happiness. Everything in these nighttime wanderings is pleasant and perfect where nothing goes wrong.
I hate dreams like that.
Not only do they remind me of the wretched horrific-ness of the rest of my life, but they're terrible for my muse. It makes her turn into this happy beastie who wants to inspire me to write romances or worse, fantasies filled with unicorns and pixies. Makes me wonder who the hell she is.
Afterall, my muse is part vampire, part outright bitch with attitude. She and I both do better when my dreams are filled with landscapes of blood and those odd occurrences that only happen in nightmares. Y'know the stuff, where I feel like I'm running through sludge whenever I'm being chased by whatever ails me or where I'm trapped in a room that doesn't have a door and it's cold as hell.
Yeah, that's the stuff I like, love, and live off of. My muse thrives as she hisses in my ear how this part could be turned into a story or that part could be a plot point for my current project. For her, nightmares are not just inspiration, they're familiar territory.
Now that is where I like to be: scared spitless and inspired. :)