What do you dream about?

Last night, I had an incredibly vibrant dream. In this dream, I walked out my front door one morning to discover that the cottage garden at the front of the Fibro had been transformed. The two graceful birches that rustle in the breeze and shield our front verandah from much of the street had been chopped down and lay, felled, across the footpath. The garden beds, full of lavender, camellias, salvia and roses, had been cleared. No flowers grew in my new garden. A new, dazzlingly white picket fence had been installed. The entire area had been carpeted in faux green grass. Two pink, concrete flamingoes had taken up residence in the very centre of the astroturf. A stout little garden gnome stood sentinel by the front gate.

I woke up in a lather. Then woke The Builder up to tell him about it. He managed a laugh.

We didn't need to look far to find a 'meaning' for my dream. I went to Sydney on Friday for Coffee with some of my editorial contacts. After many meetings, many Coffees, and dinner with friends, we all came to one conclusion: it's a time of flux for freelance writers. The old ways are gone. New ways are coming - though nobody is entirely sure yet what they will be. When you write for magazines and other publications, you are a freelancer. When you write for the internet, you are a 'content provider'. The value of the written word is yet to be decided in the shake down. There's a lot to think about, a lot of planning to do. (And, apparently, concrete flamingos to buy.)

Either that, or I simply had one too many red wines at the School Music Trivia Night.

Do you think dreams are the window to our subconscious mind, or the product of indigestion? What do you dream about? 

[image: I'll be buying my flock from www.dazzlelace.com]

There's a cafe in town

There's a cafe in Fibrotown. Simple, stylish. Good coffee, great cakes (not that I ever have any, you understand). It's run by a young couple who work harder than it seems possible to work. That's the thing with cafes. It sounds so romantic and it ends up in long hours and lots of smiling at people (Masterchef contestants take note).

What I love about this cafe, apart from the aforementioned (untasted) cakes, is that every time I go there, I run into someone I know. My friend C, who holds one long-running meeting (with a changing cast of thousands) in there, sipping coffees while answering her iPhone. The beautiful G, who often pops in after the school run - she's as good at procrastinating as I am. Or, maybe, my friend Y, who runs the gorgeous little shop around the corner. She runs in and out with her KeepCup, dropping it on the counter, knowing her order will be delivered.

There's always someone to say hello to, before I head home on my child-free workdays to the empty Fibro, where the housework waits accusingly and my computer cursor blinks endlessly on a blank screen. A moment of connection before isolated reality kicks in.

On Mr4 days, I don't tend to go to that cafe. With him for company, there's connection everywhere and, besides, he doesn't consider their milkshakes, made with real chocolate and not syrup, to be the best in town. He's four. We walk a fine line between great coffee and good milkshakes. It's not easy, but compromise is key when you are a team.

I save My Cafe for the other days. When I really need it.

Why write when you can talk?

A few years ago, I found myself in command of a workshop on how to make a living from freelancing. Fortunately, my co-pilot, one of my lovely A friends (I’ve realised since I began writing this blog that nearly all my friends’ names begin with the letter A – clearly I need to work my way up the alphabet a bit more thoroughly), had done this kind of thing before and so did most of the talking. I think I was just there for colour and movement. And perhaps a little interpretive dance when required.

Anyhoo.

All was going well until a very nice lady in the middle of the fourth row put up her hand and asked if one – and she was a ‘one’ kind of lady – had to speak to people to be a freelance writer. I paused mid-whirl in my interpretive dance. “Well,” I said, “a lot of contact is done via email these days…” I paused.

“Yes,” she said, somewhat impatiently. “But can you do interviews like that as well? It’s just that I’m a bit shy.”

“Ummm,” I said, breaking the first rule of public speaking – they’ll never let me into Toastmasters now. “One does actually have to talk to write professionally.” Her face collapsed into disappointment.

I was thinking of this little exchange on Friday as I made the train journey to The Big Smoke for what The Builder calls Coffee. With a capital C.

Writers tend to be people who like their own company. I’m quite open about the fact that I’m much better in writing than I am in person (which is probably why I love Twitter). But that doesn’t mean I can get away with not trying.

So I try to do Coffee at least two or three times a year. It involves meeting up with the editors with whom I work regularly, those with whom I’d like to work more regularly and, even, those who’ve never heard of me before I ring them out of the blue to say hello. It serves to remind them who I am (or introduce them to my charms), allows me to find out if there are any direction changes for the publication or website, and gives me the opportunity to pitch a few stories in their direction to see if anything flies. Even when I lived in the inner city I tried to get as many as possible done in one day – now that I’m in Fibrotown, that’s essential.

It doesn’t always result in work. Not straight away anyway. But it does result in a connection. And like everything else in the world, freelancing is about relationships.

When you freelancing, it’s very easy to disappear into your own parallel universe. You forget what it’s like to have colleagues and bosses and people who simply don’t like the shoes you’re wearing on any given day. You sit in your vacuum and come up with ideas and wonder why none of them are finding the mark. So sometimes you have to leave the bubble.

I really enjoy Coffee. In some ways, it’s exhausting, dragging your sociable self kicking and screaming into the light (or maybe that’s just me). But mostly, it’s exhilarating. I always come home with lots of new ideas and inspiration, along with a healthy dose of motivation. Of course, the five or six cups of coffee that I take in over the course of the day may have something to do with that…