We’re editing together, head to head. It’s a bio, a blurb, maybe something in between. He’s Neil Gaiman, (I know Amanda is behind me, reading something else) and he’s mumbling a bit, as he re-reads the text: words flow until they get stuck. I take it from the place he left off.
—I think that what it should say is… the British voice that became a classic of American literature.
To this, his eyes light up, because it solves the problem we were having with the previous sentence, because it works. Also, it’s a compliment. And he kisses me, and it’s a long, dry, closed lips kiss of thanks, and in dreams, time stops if you want it to.
This is what dreams are for. I wake up hugging a scantly clad man with a messy mane of black hair, and an (increasingly) salt-and-pepper beard. My head is in his shoulder: we’re really close together, because our 4 year old child has invaded my side of the bed. Again.
—I dreamt Neil Gaiman liked my writing so much that he kissed me. We were working together. Can you imagine? Writing and editing with Gaiman, and he likes my writing and enthusiastically approves.
Neil Gaiman is the man I would marry if he weren’t married to the woman I would marry and I weren’t married to the person I did marry and their marriage sounds a lot like mine.
Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman edit The Art of Asking.
If you want to imagine Pablo and me editing stuff together, just look above.
Update: This is what I thought before reading The Art of Asking, in which Amanda describes some of their marriage’s challenges, which are somewhat different to mine. Still, I can relate to both of them when I read it: the bad feelings when asking for money from your partner, even if he’s wealthier, for example. But also, some of their conversations sounded SO similar to Pablo and me. I’ll update with examples.
This is (sometimes literally) the job of my dreams: please note that this is me in my dreams behaviour, this would not be appropriate in a professional setting. ;P
Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We
When his mind is idle, he thinks of her. —What are you thinking about? —Maths. If he’s with her, he loses track of time. —So late to get home, why? —Maths. She wants long periods for herself. —Why are you going away for the weekend? —Maths. —Why are you going to Brazil, again? —Maths. She