Isn’t it amazing how creative our dreams are?

Last night I dreamed that a plane crashed into the snow-covered mountain behind my house.

My daddy called to ask if I saw anything (he heard about the crash on TV). I went outside to look for smoke and as I turned toward the mountain, an avalanche was headed toward me. I ducked (I truly don’t know what to do to avoid being stuck under feet of snow). The rumbling stopped just inches away from me.

Thankfully it was a dream, although the mountain behind my house was gorgeous.

I’ve had quite a few plane-crash dreams. I’m not certain why. Sometimes I’ve been on the plane as it hurls toward the ground. Through those awful dreams, I’ve always had a sense of peace–that no matter what the outcome, everything would be okay.

Now if I could harness the creativity found in my dreams and divert it to my novels, then all would be wonderful.

I have used dreams as inspiration for novels. One in particular is about a man, running with a boy beside him, racing to avoid being struck by a plane that is coming toward them. While I haven’t gotten to that scene in the book, and may not ever since I now write historicals, I often wonder why they are running.

And I wonder why I dream so often about planes. I wanted to take flying lessons as a high school student. My daddy wouldn’t pay for the lessons(he’s a very cautious man and afraid of flying–may have something to do with the fact that a plane he was on lost one of its engines in flight).

I interviewed for an air traffic control position, but never followed through with the process. I think I had a good chance at being chosen. I was dating my husband at the time and didn’t want to go to Oklahoma for the training.

Was I supposed to be in the air? Who knows, but my dreams take me there quite often.