Sunday, 24th of June

We dream each night, then talk all day and discuss what (if anything) we are going to do. I have never felt so much part of a community, but I’ve also never felt so lonely as well. Here we are in a big manor house in West Wales, the only thirteen people – perhaps in the world – who share these experiences, and it allows us a window into each other’s souls. Over the course of each day we don’t just talk about our dreams (that might be a recipe for insanity), but bond as we discuss other things and find out what we have in common. I am part of something here, something that is incredibly and uncannily special.
However I am also very alone. Each night we sleep by ourselves – which of course is better to aid our dreams – but it means that I miss Julie. Even though I see her in the day, she is just one of the group now – the member I know best, but still one of thirteen alike souls. I am making new friends, forging new connections, but in the process I seem to have lost my girlfriend.

Dexter Phillips is right though, we need to concentrate on the dreams. A bruised heart is going to be the least of our worries when this thing slams into Earth and it all begins.

Tuesday, 14th of February

Before I go out for the night, I thought I’d share that today I received the first review of my book from someone I know. Rather predictably it came from my mother. Although it isn’t a genre she likes (supernatural thrillers is what I write, of course) she told me she enjoyed it. Although it concerned her somewhat that the main character seemed so close to me and yet seemed so miserable (pretty bloody depressed, actually) in the opening stages of the book. She was distressed in case that’s how I felt; in case I ever reached such lows of morale or depths of despondency. I told her that at the time I wrote it I did feel really down, but I’ve felt much better since then.
In no way did I let onto her that once again I seem to have descended down the hill. But before, when I was depressed, I was simply low – I was never, ever frightened. There were no dreams to torment me. Back then I just felt as if life was giving me a kicking, now it seems as if the whole universe has taken it upon itself to destroy me. But I didn’t tell my mother this (how could I?) – I just reassured her that I was low when I wrote that book, but feel much better now.

The other thing she found really distressing, she told me, was the ending. And I can see her point there. But who knows what can lead to a distressing ending? I am typing these words now and have literally no idea how good or bad the ending will be. That’s life though, who knows what tricks fate has in store for us? Who can tell when those tricks will be played?