The other night I had a dream that I was murdered—or at least that was the intention. I was being held captive, along with 3 other people, in some psycho's house. He pulled out a handgun and shot me one, two, three times. Each shot was spaced several seconds apart, and I could tell that my killer was merely making sure he'd finished the job. After the third shot, I fell into an indoor swimming pool. Now not only had I been shot several times, but I could feel the air escaping my lungs as I drowned. I said my final prayers as I waited to die, because I was thoroughly convinced that this was the end for me. But then the thought occurred to me that someone might pull me from the pool and resuscitate me. I waited, as my air ran out, for that salvation to come. But when it didn't, I miraculously sprang up and out of the pool, my gunshot wounds either gone or forgotten. Next thing I know, I have my murderer pinned to the ground, and I am begging one of the other captives for a knife or pitchfork or some kind of weapon to extract my revenge. Whether it be fortunate or not, I woke before I had a chance to do any killing. This is the first dream I've had of this nature, and there's only one thing I can do with it—use it in a book. 

Dreams are vivid, and personal, and emotional, and that's why they make such great stories. If you're looking for something to write about, think back to your dreams. I'm betting there's some inspiration there...