It’s 10:30 on a Friday night. I’m awake. I know. This isn’t a big deal for all you high school/college age people out there who will probably hang out on the town until 4 am. But as a mama who has to wake when her baby wakes, this is late. I promise. I’m a rebel. There is no order here.
It’s like the night before christmas when you were a child. You usually have to go to bed at like eight o’clock, but on Christmas Eve your parents let you stay up late to watch the dying flames of the fire and eat cookies after you’ve brushed your teeth. That’s me. Right now. Except I’m not eating cookies, I’m eating ravioli. My 7 month old son is asleep. And I am Wide. A. Wake.
I guess that’s the curse of writing. It wakes me up, keeps me typing until the wee hours of the morning, my imagination on fire, my fingers blazing across the keyboard, my blood threading through my veins at the speed of the Amazon River. (I researched rivers, and that came up as one of the fastest in the world. Now you know one more fact than the average american. You’re welcome.)
I haven’t been able to experience that kind of high since I had my son, though. It’s okay. All worth the giggles, the smiles, and even the dirty diapers. 🙂 But, here I am, writing with no respect for tomorrow. Not only that, but writing about, well, nothing. Rambling, more like it.
So what does staying up “late” on a Friday night have to do with writing? Usually people write on a school/work night, and only because they have that research paper they need to finish. But most creative writers–– the ones who write as a hobby, who find adventure in the thrill of Story–– would probably enjoy sitting inside on Friday night with a cup of tea or decaf coffee (or regular coffee if they have no reason to get up tomorrow), and just… write.
Because that’s what we do. We get lost in our stories. We would rather spend Friday night reading/writing a good book than hanging at the bar with some fair-weather friends. You have heard the quote by George R. R. Martin, “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.”
So from my desk, I lift my cup of tea to you my friends, my comrades, my fellow readers and writers.