|Sunrise. Not taken by me.|
I used to email a writer friend, "good night" and she would email back a moment later, "good morning." Four a.m. meant different things to us. Crazy people who get up before the rooster crows can't understand how I can stay up and function just fine, thank you very much, for several hours after midnight.
We all search for people like ourselves in order to validate what we do, why we do it or how we do it. That may be one reason writers are asked "what's your process?" When do I write? Late at night, of course. I am most creative then. I do edits during the day. My muse is tucked away, softly snoring. (Don't tell her I said she snores, okay? I need her in a good mood.) I'm more analytical during the day.
|Ah, sunset. More my style...and time of day.|
Fortunately, my babies woke up cheerful in the morning. They were just too cute to be grumpy with at 6 a.m. They were so delighted with the world and with seeing mommy again. I tried to live up to their expectations and earn that unconditional love.
I guess I'm feeling nostalgic (late hours make me emotional too, which may be why writing is easier for me at night). My "babies" would be horrified to read stories of themselves as infants. They'd be horrified to read about themselves here at all. "Mo-o-om," I can hear them complain, as though they're sitting beside me reading my screen. They're at that precious age--teenagers. They've always appreciated that I don't expect them to get up early when they don't have school. My mom used to vacuum outside my door. On Saturday morning. At seven thirty.
I think she was getting even with me for making her miss dinner so I could enter the world. Because I was, of course, born late at night.
How 'bout you? Morning person or night owl?