The Girls woke me up at a quarter to five this morning. Let me tell you, I was sleeping very nicely. It poured last night and cooled things down, so there was a fine soft breeze coming through the window. The animals were all asleep. I did not want to move.
So I turned over and snuggled in. The girls nudged me again. “Get up! Now, before the sleep burns away.”
Long experience has taught me that I will far more regret not getting up than actually obeying the prompt, so grumbling, I put on a sweater and made some tea and blearily made my way to the computer, with no idea what I was going to do when I got there.
Turns out we went to a breakfast joint where there was orange-cinnamon French toast being served to a weary firefighter in the mountains. There was a woman drinking coffee. Mountain bikers filling the air with testosterone as they waited for the sun to rise. It was a whole scene. Very rough, but early morning writing often is for me, and I’m not bothered by messy (even extremely messy) rough drafts.
The scene introduced an important location and a person I hadn’t met, though he’d been lurking around at the edges of the stage, waiting for his chance. I liked it all very much and was, in the end, quite happy to be awake writing it.
Who knows how books get written, how the creative process works? I don’t. Sometimes, I’m embarrassed to do something like that, fall out of bed early and stagger to the computer, or stay up really really late, writing. It seems precious. Odd.
And yet, when the muses or the girls or God or my own subconscious woke me up this morning after so many days not writing, I was willing to go. Show up. The scene would likely have arrived at some point this week anyway, but who knows? Maybe it wouldn’t have.
Now I think I have to go find the makings for homemade raisin bread. I used to be extremely good at making bread. Haven’t done a lot of it lately.
Do you ever do things at strange times of day?
Creative commons photo by kindagetmego