I hit a big problem with my writing. During the week, it would be the last thing I did at night. Unfortunately, that meant having to ditch something else – technical training, fitness (which I’ve found enough excuses to ditch thanks to weather), time with Nita.
I’m in the last semester of a math-heavy sequence at Wilmington College. At 21, I would have sucked it up, mainlined Mountain Dew, and functioned quite nicely on three glorious hours of sleep. Now?
I need at least five, preferably six. Seven is ideal. (I’m that rare creature who can’t do eight. I feel like I haven’t slept right around that eighth hour.) The other problem is, when I can write, often my eyelids droop as I type.The result is a low word count, which may explain why Dick’s SF novel fell into Act II doldrums and has taken seven months to write instead of the predicted four.
A few years ago, a friend suggested I write first thing in the morning. I liked the idea. I write better in the morning. Unfortunately, I have to be out the door by 6:30 to travel to a strange and mysterious foreign land known as Cincinnati’s West Side. So where would the time come from?
I’ve been getting up at 5:45 for years now. The alarm goes off at 5:30. Move it back half an hour. Doable?
If I get to bed by 11, maybe 11:15. Originally, I planned to go down to my office to write, but it occurred to me that, without the television on, I could sit on the couch and write in the living room. So how’d it work?
I don’t know. I just started this on Monday (when I overslept), so I’ll tell you in a couple of weeks. I will say it’s wonderful when your brain has that fresh-from-the-shower vibe going that early. Unfortunately, it forces me to admit something I had hoped was wrong.
I really am a morning person.