Around 1999 I had some vivid dreams, fragments that I was able to recall, and fortunately I did jot down what I did remember into several notebooks. At the time the name JIACK was attached to these dreams. I do not place anything behind the dreams, just something odd that they were vivid like a memory recall, weird.
The dreams were never complete just bits here, bits there and none of what I wrote in those note books made any sense or linked together, yet they were all connected. The dreams lasted for several months, stopped, then returned. Although I had all these notes, nothing made a story, and now the dreams had ceased the notebooks were almost disgarded.
It was around 2001-2002 that the dreams returned, though I was aware the main character in all these dreams, one Jack Pendalton had now become Jack Thatcher, why? I had no idea, except I was now dreaming and recalling so much detail, places, other people, names, equipment. For several months the dreams and the recall into notebooks continued, then as if to say goodbye, I saw my character laughing, then no more. I admit to having a vivid imagination, I do not have not ever taken substances, pointless. This collection of dreams was like realtime television, vivid.
What I was now aware of was that the story with all the new notes now made sense, so I started to write, even rolled it out as MY NAME IS JIACK, manuscript self publish. Suddenly in 2005 I had one dream of Jack Thatcher sitting down somewhere, in front of him he had some paper on it he had written, MY NAME WAS JIACK. Just briefly I was given some detail of a new character, Mwuffi, she appeared to be involved in the final part of what ever was going on, then I learnt she was the last, in real time.
I revisited the writing, foundnotes I had separated from notepads that contained detail I had not included, so I started from the beginning again, made sure it was all there.
Amid other writings and a need to lay this odd story into print, I took my time.
November 2010 it rolls off the press, MY NAME WAS JIACK.
A write of fiction, or a place revisited? I do not know.