Three writers are sitting at a bar. It’s the first time they’ve met.
After a drink or two, the first writer turns to the others at the bar and says, “I had a strange dream last night.”
The second writer asked, “How strange was it?”
“Well, the first writer says, “I dreamed I went to Hell and a lot of famous writers were there. You know, Mark Twain, Dorothy Parker, Albert Camus.”
“Really,” says the second writer. “I dreamed I went to Heaven and a lot of famous writers were there. You know, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, John Bunyan.”
When he didn’t say anything, they asked the third writer, who said, “I dreamed I was in a bar with two other writers.”
The next night the three writers met again at the bar.
The first writer said, “I dreamed I was in Heaven, and I saw all those writers you mentioned.”
The second writer said, “I dreamed I was in Hell, and I saw all those writers you mentioned.”
Then they turned to the third writer sitting between them. He took a sip of his drink and shrugged his shoulder, “I dreamed I was in a bar with two other writers.”
After another drink, they started talking about their work.
“I’m a crime writer,” said the first writer.
“I’m a romance writer,” said the second writer.
They then turned to third writer who sighed and said, “I’m a travel writer.”
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