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Jeff's Dreams

The Tor editorial staff has just discovered that they are really characters in someone else's dreams. (I just got a phone call from the Flatiron Building directing me to a blog post from February.)

Flash #1 I'm in Tor Books headquarters in the Flatiron Building in New York City. The building is one of the narrowest in the world, but in the dream, no matter how narrow it is on the outside, on the inside it's very, very wide. So wide that one of the administrative assistants actually walks to Argentina to hand-deliver copy edits to an author, without leaving the building at any time. My editor, Liz Gorinsky, is running around with an AK-47 under one arm, wearing an army uniform and a green beret. I don't know exactly why she's running around. David Hartwell appears around a corner, wearing a beret that's paisley. I say, "What can I help with?" And they both shout out, "NOTHING."

Flash #2
Liz and David are loading writers into a truck. The truck is down below and Liz and David are on the third floor and just literally throwing the writers through a window and down into the truck. None of them seem hurt. When it's my turn, I say, "No thanks, I'd rather stay here." But then I see that the whole inside of the building has turned into a volcano and I realize they're not loading writers--they're saving books. And when I look down into the truck, it's full of books with writer's faces on the front cover, with various looks of dismay on them.

Flash #3
I have been hired as a medium by the entire Tor editorial staff. I am to walk back and forth through the corridors, and any time any one of them needs a medium, I am to help them. I'm now wearing both Liz's beret and David's beret. They're itchy. Patrick Nielsen Hayden pokes his head around a corner, beckons me into his office. There's a huge orange the size of a medicine ball on top of his cluttered desk. "Tell me what the hell this is? Tell me where it came from. Tell me what it's going to do." I say, "I don't know where it came from. And it has already done what it was going to do." Patrick says, "That doesn't help me. Try to focus. What-is-it-going-to-do?" I say, "It is going to explode." Patrick says, "Really?!" I say, "No. I really don't know what it is going to do." Then it explodes.

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