The Dark Hours…
I’m a light sleeper.
But lately, owing to a brief illness, I have been sleeping like the proverbial log. My head laying on the pillow, eyes closing and the next morning, waking to not a wrinkle or fold in the bedding from a tempestuous night.
Tonight, however, is more like old times…
I came to bed, read a few pages of fiction, fell into a deep sleep and then woke at 1.45 AM. I knew immediately I wouldn’t get back to sleep any time soon, so whilst all computers, radios, TV’s, dogs and husbands slept on, I made a hot milk drink, stacked up the pillows on the bed in the spare room (my office!) and pulled out a pad and pen.
I wrote a blogpost which shall air this week. I wrote the blurb for my latest WIP – it’s sometimes the key that unlocks the direction in which my subconscious wants the narrative to travel.
And now I’m writing this post.
The curious thing is that all the words I’ve written tonight (before this) have merit and clarity and I’m immensely happy with the outcome.
They are sharp, unclouded by the daylight hours’ busy-ness. It’s glaringly obvious that the darkness of night offers its own isolation. It encourages a from of discipline and avoids distraction. It’s certainly helped me write eight previous novels.
But whilst a dog barks further up the hill and a little night breeze skirls under the eaves and fascia, whilst I get a little chilly and snuggle a bit further down the bed, I notice my eyes are getting heavy and there are pauses between paragraphs.
I’m happy though, to find that my favourite writing time of all is waiting for me with a novel in mind…