February 2009
My Big Black Dog
The night before starting a challenging rewrite, I had a heart-pounding dream. A huge black dog sat on the deck outside my back door. His floppy ears brushed the rooftop. His paws were like boulders and his legs were dark, furry tree trunks. I peered at him through the kitchen window, then pressed myself against the wall where he couldn’t see me. I listened to his steady, patient panting. He wasn’t going anywhere. He knew I was there.
I would have to leave the house sometime, and when I did, the gigantic shadowy dog would be waiting for me. Would he eat me? Chase me?
After a few long minutes, I dared myself to look at the dog's face. Strangely, it was friendly. He had enormous, bright eyes and a pink tongue as long and wet as a Slip 'N Slide. His heavy tail thumped the deck, making the slats groan. The dog was waiting to play with me. That’s all he wanted. But I was terrified. If his paws didn’t get me, his uncontrollable tail might. But again, he was friendly. He was loyal. He was my big, black, scary dog.
Once, I took a class in dream interpretation. The teacher told us that everything in a dream symbolizes a part of you. I lay in bed the morning after the dream, trying to think of what piece of myself that unwieldy, frightening and loyal dog might represent. At the same time, I felt a naggy feeling. It was time to get up and start working on my story. But I was scared of it. It was a big, unwieldy project on the edge of my control. The creative undertows kept pulling it in unexpected directions. But the project was mine, and I would have to deal with it sooner or later.
Oh. I get it.
The big black dog symbolized my creativity. It’s much greater than me, and wilder than me, and I am afraid of what might happen if I meet it face to face. Will it eat me alive? Chase me into dark corners? It is so much easier to hide.
But the dog is lovable, too. He has a kind face. And he isn’t asking much of me: Just a walk around the block. Just a game of fetch. Just one day at a time, at my desk writing down the words that emerge from the shadows. I love my big, spooky dog. I love my creative life. It’s worth any fear that I feel.
Sooner or later, if you want a creative life, you must face your demons. Or dogs. You don’t need to train them or defeat them. You just need to walk them.
P.S. I finished my rewrite.