I dreamed about a romance novel last night. Specifically, an old romance novel with a pink cover. The spine was cracked and the pages were yellowed. The cover was mostly pink but edged into purple. I had no idea what the book was about, I just knew that I loved it and I’d read it many times. When I woke up, I had to dig through my collection. I found a couple of old ones that I read over and over again when I was a teenager. (Yes, mom, I stole these from you. No, you can’t have them back.)
The cover of “Dark Before the Rising Sun” (by Laurie McBain) is gorgeous. Lush pink offset with bold yellow letters and an expression of devotion on the hero’s face. I must have read this book a dozen times. Here is the hero’s perspective:
Lingeringly, Dante pressed his lips against the pale transparency of her temple while carefully smoothing back a softly waving curl. Her golden head fell backward to fit snugly in the curve of his neck and shoulder. He closed his eyes, the sound of her quiet breathing filling him. And at last he was content to sleep, knowing that she would still be lying beside him when he awoke.
Yeah, ROMANTIC. I adore these kinds of passages, filled with gorgeous tenderness and a sense of hope and devotion. I’m a total sucker for heroes that can love so passionately. This particular paragraph occurs in the first quarter of the novel. And believe it or not, the book is 518 pages. Talk about indulgence! Published in 1982. Even so, this book is not the book I dreamed about.
I dug up another:
Pink cover—check. Gorgeous chick—check. Interesting title—uh, maybe not, but who cares? “The Lion’s Lady” by Julie Garwood was published in 1988. From the back cover: “The feisty and defiant Christina has no fear of him—or any other man.” Heh. Women’s lib, baby. A lot of romances from this era and earlier had fainting heroines and appalling heroes. Lots of trauma and a total lack of self-worth in the main character. I bet I picked this one up because the chick wasn’t a wilting flower. Even now, I remember the sense of awe I felt as I read it. The woman in this novel was one of my very first super-heroine crushes. I won’t give anything away, but suffice to say, she has a crazy, CRAZY secret and skills. SKILZ. I adored this book. In fact, I might reread it.
This is also not the book I dreamed about.
It took me the better part of an hour to remember that in my dream, the book I’d been holding was one that I’d written. At least, in my dream I’d written it, and it had been printed and read and been much-loved by someone, enough to crack the spine. This, of course, is ludicrous. I don’t have a book with a pink/purple cover. My books are generally read in digital form. Everything about this dream was wrong.
Unless. . . . .
Hmmmmm. . . . . .
Could I have been dreaming about the future?