I picked up somewhere that it's a sign of immaturity to tell people about what you dreamed last night: nobody cares, the sights or scenes themselves are never as interesting to someone who's forced to listen, nobody cares, nobody but you or a shrink who's paid money to listen will know what it "means", if you can untangle it then it won't mean anything to someone forced to listen, nobody cares and... basically, I gathered, it's impossible to make dreams into a good story unless you're Lewis Carrol. Or Neil Gaiman. Or maybe the writer of 9th Elsewhere. Actually, forget those anti-oneironauts. I, for one, love to hear about other people's dreams! Mostly. Sometimes. Well... when I don't, I tend to blame the style of storytelling more than the nature or content. It's usually an unscripted oral, lots of backtracking, messy associations, and an increase in vagueness as the teller gets more excited. I can see how that can lead to one big snooze, but I get more annoyed listening to somebody come back from a shopping trip and regale me with glowing descriptions of things they didn't buy-- or, boyfriend troubles. That never ends. But, to someone, that's an engaging story. So, my question: How to improve expression of dreams? Have you any dreams you'd like to share? Especially a lucid one-- I love those, since the MC, as it were, tends to take action and that gives me vicarious thrills of power. Here's one dream-image of mine, from last night: The hues and contours of a foot-long Audrey Hepburn, wriggled through the blue haze and up to the aquarium wall. She kissed the spot on the wall, that I had been tapping on the other side, before bringing her white-gloved hand up to take a drag from a cigarette, and then meandering away. My first thought was not, How did these koi breeders get catfish to look like Audrey Hepburn? but How do these Hepburnfish keep their cigarettes lit while underwater? Carefully watching these schools of fish swim by, I eventually gleaned that the long cigarette filters were their tongues-- and their tongues weren't muscle, but bone-- and their bones were made of a metal that could remain combustible, even under water.