Then it was Morning.

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Pour me more coffee please, it’s morning again.  How did the time pass?  When did it go?  I was just writing, scribbling away.  Now it’s morning again.

I do a lot of my best writing at night.  I’m not 100% sure why.  I’m actually a bigger *fan* of writing in the early morning hours.  The wee morning hours, where no one is up yet, the coffee pot is the only one making noise.  I have a hard time getting what I want to say out when it’s not nighttime.

Maybe it’s because I’m well rested and the filters thrown on my brain, dictating what is acceptable thought are harder to rip off now.  I know when I write at night, both on my blog and in my physical journal, the words just hit the paper and that’s that.  I don’t alter anything, just let them flow.  The only thing I will cross out and fix is spelling (yes, even in a fit of scribbling, spelling errors make me batty).  In the morning?  I rethink entire paragraphs.  Copy, paste, delete, and oh I’ll delete that too!  I am much more critical when the sun is up.

Write drunk, edit sober.  Maybe for me, it’s writing tired and not editing at all.

I was on a roll last night.  I wrote page after page after page and then some how fell asleep.  I woke up this morning, with words streaming through my head, got my coffee and sat down.  I wrote almost nothing before I thought “Nah, I better delete that”.

Maybe I just developed a habit over the years.  When I first started seriously writing in my journals (most likely you could say that in my early teen years… before that I wrote mostly about how my crush was dick and my teacher didn’t know what she was talking about LOLz) I did most of my writing during the late hours, post dinner.  Not because I wanted too, but because that was the only time I had left.  I dropped out of high school, pretty early and once I found myself a job, that was the only free time I had.  After the incident of me getting thrown out/moving out of my parents house, I would stop at a coffee house on the way home to my rented room and write.  It was a halfway point, and I had pseudo privacy so it worked perfectly.  Fast forward a few years, I had college work to do at night after work each day, so the LATE hours were for writing.  Once I had my daughter, it was after she went to bed and I could hide in my room away from my then-husband.

Maybe my brain is just used to it.

So here I am.  Writing about wanting to write, when last night I poured out my soul onto pages in my handmade journal.

 

It’s irritating.  Pass the coffee.

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