When she wakes up in the morning/ she writes down all her dreams

Well, lucky for you, I keep a dream journal after hearing a lyric in a Libertines song ('When she wakes up in the mornin'/ She writes down all her dreams'). Unfortunately, I don't always remember my dreams, but I have a fair few in the book. Once I begin writing it, the details appear as if by magic, even if I thought I couldn't remember them. Once written, I tend to remember them well.

It was also recommended as part of my Creative Writing Degree. When I explained to the tutor I worried that my dreams might make me appear a bit weird if anyone ever read them. She simply said 'lean into the weird, it's where the best ideas are.' You can be the judge of if I am actually insane as you read on.

My dreams are always messy, chaotic and bitty, but they have provided me with some good inspiration for short stories and fiction. They can be scary (often filled with zombies), erotic (dream Lizzie is sex mad apparently) and prophetic (I used to dream about floods/ plane crashes etc.)

Here is an excerpt from my dream diary.

I'm in bed, but its pitch black. Still, I know its my old bedroom in the house I gre up in in London. I shared with my sister and I can hear her breathing deep and slow in her bed by the door. I am in the bed by the window.

My senses prickle and the bedroom door creaks open. A tall, muscular figure fills the doorway, the dim light from the hallway only highlighting his outline.

He moved into the room through the liquid shadows. His hair is long and curly and glows red in the dark. He has a hundred piercings which glint as he creeps towards me. I curl my fingers into the blanket. I can't hear my sister now over my own heart thumping in my ears.

I am frozen. I can't speak, but I am awake, I know I am. I must be, it feels so real, from the fly that snuck in through the open window that just flitted across my cheek to the scent of whisky and cigarettes clinging to his shimmering skin.

I lay still as he peers over me. I wet my lips.

His breathing is ragged and I can see he's already hard through his shiny leather trousers.

The mattress dips as he climbs on top of me.

It's Dee Snider (Yes... from 80s hair metal band Twisted Sister).