I have prepublication jitters. Despite decent reviews and events going in the right general direction, I am anxious. The publicity makes me anxious; even good reviews make me anxious.
I am having nightmares for the first time in years. I never have nightmares. Now I am dreaming about giant women. Huge women who ask me to do their hair. I have to stand on a chair to accommodate them. One has black tresses that stick straight out from the back of her head with royal blue highlights, geometrically placed along the bottom. I comb the blue parts. Another asks if I will help in the placement of a giant scarf. I wrap the colorful schmatta around her head several times, nearly losing my balance on the chair.
Another night I dream I am alone with a nice man, and we are talking in front of a fireplace. Suddenly the home is invaded by a horde of large women, all of whom are extremely tall except for one. The short one is a blond pygmy with bad breath who whispers vile things about me, all of which are true. I pick her up and smack her against the furniture. Then I hold her at eye level; she continues her vituperative litany in a deadly calm voice. I nearly faint from the halitosis.
After a couple of days, I think: giant women. Publication.
Amazons? Ok. I get that.
But what’s the deal with the pygmy?