I was 10 when it happened. One night after falling asleep I dreamt I was in a large library. Book shelves seemed to be stacked hundreds of feet high, being accessed by people on open-sided elevator platforms. I always liked going to the library at school, and before I was even able to read much, I remembered being fascinated just by the shapes of the letters of the alphabet.
In the dream now I noticed an enormous blackboard off to one side of the main library room. The letters of the alphabet I knew ran along the top, and below them 26 corresponding columns of other letters and symbols which I recognized as other languages; Chinese, Egyptian, Mayan, Russian, Hebrew and more I didn’t know.
A lady I assumed was the librarian walked up to me then and said, “follow me.”
We walked along the tall stacks for a few minutes and then came to a large set of double doors. On one door was carved the phrase “Sapere aude,” and on the other, “caveat scriptor.” The librarian noticed me trying to read the phrases and she said, “It’s Latin. Dare to know on the left and let the writer beware on the right. Let’s go in and talk.”
She pulled out a chair for me in front of her desk and then went around and sat behind it. It felt like being in the principal’s office at school, but with a principal I liked and wanted to help me.
“So, we get copies here of everything that is written on Earth. That’s why the place is so large. We review what comes in and we would like you to write for us.”
“Write what? I’m 10!”
“You’ll know. And, not to scare you, but take the writer beware warning seriously. Go back to bed now. We’ll follow up when you’re 14 years old.”
I turned 14 in February of 1969. The previous September I had begun 9th grade, and my English teacher was a young woman named Pamela Colwell. I thought it was just a teenage crush but it was more. She was the dream librarian.
And one night we met there, again. She acted just like she did in class, asking, “Did you read the Joseph Conrad short story I assigned?”
“No, not yet, am I going to have to be doing double homework now?” I joked, feeling much more relaxed talking to her here than in “real world” class.
“Oh, there will be much more than just two sets of homework. I want you to start a novel. Well, a really long story anyway. You know this thing in the news recently about maybe Paul is dead and the Beatles left clues on their records? I know you’re a Beatles fan, so write about that. There’s something to be learned there.”
“Will I remember any of this in class tomorrow, Miss Colwell?”
“Remember that Conrad said we live as we dream – alone.”