Dreams of being a playwright

I dreamed last night that I was writing a mystery novel. The basic plot of my mystery novel is that I was an author writing a mystery novel, and that everytime I wrote about a crime, that crime would be committed. Someone was reading my book and committing all the crimes in it. My book was so exciting, I decided to turn it into a play. By surfing the Internet, I found that Ryan's (the restaurant) sponsored plays and would allow budding playwrights such as myself to use their building for performances. I was very excited about that possibility, and I went to my mom and dad's house to hunt for costumes to use in my play. Most of them were stored in my old bedroom, which was Robyn's room now. As I gathered up costumes (richly embroidered robes, dresses, crowns, etc.) into bundles, I heard this soft warbling sound. I stopped to listen, and the sound stopped. I hauled out my load of costumes and then tiptoed softly back into the room to listen. Nothing. I remained quiet for several minutes, and then the sound started back up again. It was coming from behind Sarah's air conditioner. I carefully scooted the air conditioner out of the window, and two very tiny yellow birds covered with soot flew out. I caught them gently, cupped in my hand, and brought them down to show the rest of my family. My son, Jay, thought they were baby chicks, and then we all were confused for awhile about whether chicks were a generic term for baby birds, or only for baby chickens. I do remember saying that I thought baby chicks were a lot cuter than chickens. These birds could fly, though, so I was pretty sure they were not baby chickens. They were extrememly dirty, though, but we gave them to my dad to take care of. He was going to clean them up and do some research before he released them back into the wild. He was a little concerned that they would get caught in the broadband, since they were so small.