It's 4:30 am here on the East Coast of the U.S.A. After having published a new chapter of my story "My Sister Rosalie" last night at midnight, the writer in me woke me up at 4 am to check my stats ... nothing gobsmacking this time, so I could weigh in, I could go do some work, I could do a pre-dawn run (I'll do a morning run later), I could grab a little something to snack on...
Instead I'm resisting all temptations (except this one, writing this entry, of course: a writer knows she must strike when the iron is hot, that is: in the moment of inspiration, or it will never get written and will be lost forever among the hundred, the thousand other thoughts she has to share, but never will, because they're lost, forgotten, carried away by the tidal pull of the day and the mundane tasks that pull her away from the keyboard): instead of a piece of dried fruit, or a crushed-nuts-and-seeds wafer, or some chips and dip, I grabbed a bottle of water, and now I'm putting my head on my pillow, and am going to do what comes naturally in this darkest before the dawn hour: sleep.
Good night, my dears. It's a comfort to know your reading this now, not sleeping, as I am, or you glance at this, and decide: 'eh, I'll sleep now, instead. I'm tired.' ... just like me.
It feels good to be a part of a community who understands and is struggling with the same things I struggle with. It makes the fight less burdensome, more worth it.
'nite. zzzzz
