The book that never was : it takes more than a dream


I nearly wrote a classic novel last night. I really did. I was so very close. I wish I could share it with you, because you’d love it. I can guarantee you would have never read anything like it.

The narrative was engrossing, the characters well rounded and the settings were so very vivid. I was enthralled, captivated by this completely original idea that, if I could only write it up (and of course, that’s seemed like the easy part with it all laid out in front of me), I knew it would be a tale that would grab so many others.

It was so, so  clear as I let the scenes roll out in front of me. The plot was so extensive that, actually, I think I had the makings of a second and maybe even a third novel all compiled in front of me. The hard work, surely, was done – I made sure there were no ends untied, when I finally allowed myself to wake up and grab the note pad beside the bed. I was poised, ready to write down every detail. But – the details were gone. Slightly panicked, I tried for the outline, dot point, but whoosh, nothing there either. Just the faintest trace remained, like something just out of eye sight which vanished as soon as I turned my head.

My book. My story. Gone. Or maybe – it never really existed. Who will ever know?

This isn’t the first time this has happened, and I can never recall the details. But this time I lingered, thinking that would be the answer. Which it wasn’t (look, I tried, taking a shower – sometimes ideas come back then – and later a walk). And I tried to write again. Nothing. It looks as though, if I do ever write a book, I’ll need to do it the hard way. Ah well.

But  so I don’t forget it completely, I’ve written a little poem (well, actually, this was my shower effort – I’m keeping it so at least that wasn’t wasted).

This is my ode to what could have been. And, little people of the book that doesn’t exist, if you’re watching, please read this as an invitation. Please come back! I’m not scary, really. And I’d love to get to know you better 🙂


I woke this morning slowly,
as the story in my mind
was still to end, but when it did,
my tale I could not find.

With pen in hand, I searched so hard
to catch what just before
I’d seen and felt so clearly that
in me it lived – for sure.

But no, those people I had thought
I’d quickly known so well
escaped and I couldn’t visualise
the tale I’d planned to tell

Without the cast and all their quirks
The story fell apart
(The plot, trust me, was also fab
– If I only knew the start).

And therefore when I tried to write
My friends onto the page,
They’d gone, and now, no tale to write,
I’ve nothing more to say.


Have you ever experienced the most brilliant idea, the perfect vision, or like me, a whole story when you were half asleep, only to find it vanished once you woke?
Tell me I’m not alone!!


6 thoughts on “The book that never was : it takes more than a dream

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