I woke up at 3 in the morning, believing that my broken dream would serve as a good novel. I concocted the roughest synopsis I could after realizing that I was not forgetting this dream. Usually, I forget its contents after I use the bathroom.
So the convoluted story lines began. I toyed around with an story angle for a minute, but would see myself going down a contrived path. I would start from scratch, always going back to the dream, knowing that there was something special in it.
Finally, I realized something about that rough synopsis. It was very similar to the plot from an early 90’s film I watched (and forgot) when I was 12 years old. Now, I don’t want to bother with the idea anymore. I’m always scared of being called a plagiarist. My ego wants me to be recognized as an original, creating something that has never been seen before.
But in this era of history, if we strive to avoid comparison, should we even be creating anything at all?