I write best in the middle of the night, while lying in bed, in between feeding the girls and hushing them back to sleep. Full essays, chapters of novels, inspired articles...it all happens under the covers. And when I wake up in the morning, it's all completely gone. So this morning, I can't even piece together an idea of what profound thought came to me last night. All that remains is a feeling, a lingering scent, a cloudy reflection that I can't make sense out of. Like that favorite sock lost in the dryer.
Where does it all go? There is a small self-authored library in my brain that is locked up tight during daylight hours. This is unfortunate, because I am not about to get up out of bed when inspiration hits and do anything about it. Keeping a notebook by the bed? Is that cheesy, like a wannabe writer? Nobody would know but me, though...and you. And the husband. Although he's in the guest room due to his wrenching cough, a sound to my ears that is like fingernails on a blackboard. We all flinch when he coughs and then double, triple coughs. Echinacea and Elderberry, friends, before it's too late.
Things that seem rational and brilliant in the middle of the night seem dim and silly in the light of day. There is a verse about this somewhere, I know, in Proverbs. Must be true, then, and not just me.
So I sit with my hot drink and watch the girls nap and wonder where did it all go? Because I was going to blow your and my mind today with inspired words that had me revved up around 2:55 a.m., excited to sit down during the morning nap and pound out some truth bombs.
Locked, I tell you.
So about that bedside notebook...
linking up w/just write @ the EO.