City of the Dead. This is a book that started as a concept in a writing class more than ten years ago. It began as an actual dream sequence I had had that was one of those dreams you wake up from, and for a few minutes you aren’t quite sure which is the dream; waking, or where you were. I had that dream several times, the dream consisted of being lost in this city with a mysterious woman. The mission, or dream goal was to first reach the city, leave the van and then make my way to a large industrial complex where she, the mysterious woman, would be. Where I would finally meet her and find out what everything was for, or about. The problem was I could never make it to the complex. In the dream I knew every inch of that complex. I had been there several times: Its industry was to create, or destruct the worlds we think are real. 24 – 7, day after week, after year, after decade, after century and on and on. The machinery wipes away the old world and brings in the new: Maybe repurposed atoms from the old world.
I would start out night after night in the dream world. Sometimes the van would be gone, so I would have to start out on foot, but by the time I reached the beginning of the city, morning would be coming, and I knew if I were there in the morning I would die, be absorbed and recreated as something new in the new day. Other nights in the dream I would make it to the city, but search as I might I could not find the industrial complex I needed, or I would figure out where it was but I would turn to go back to the van and it would be gone. On foot I would never make it to the complex before the sunlight got me.
So one morning I wrote it out. The next thing I knew it was late afternoon and a new novel, a strange new novel was emerging. I took it to my writing class a few days later, and read it to the class as a piece I was working on. They liked it, which supercharged me, and so for the next several Thursdays the story came together and was presented to the class.
But life rules everyone. I was a carpenter, not a writer, and a part time body-man, fixing wrecked cars. I was not able to be a writer, so as with many other stories and even several novels, it went into a file cabinet that over the next few years filled up with composition notebooks, what I liked to write in: It was not yet the computer age, and I couldn’t see the investment in a typewriter; how much typing would I have to do to straighten out the writing of a kid raised on the streets for several years instead of being in school where I should have been? So, they went in the file cabinet and stayed there.
In 2009 I began to write for real. Life took its turns and I had the time and ability to do it. I wrote the book out and titled it Dreamers.
I tweaked it, sent it to an editor, corrected it, and then I began writing a series that became immediately popular and that was the end of Dreamers until 2015 when I published an excerpt on my LinkedIn page.
I found that page today and edited it to bring it up to date, and published chapter one of the book that was published… https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/dreamers-wendell-sweet/