All I hear is the fan that is making the left side of my face a little too cold. It’s 5:08 am. and I’m going to regret this in a couple hours. This being awake.

“No one is up bothering us. Why are our eyes open?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” We say this through black-rimmed glasses and over the tops of our books.

It’s an injustice to be up when the Littles are sleeping. Maybe.

I’m creating characters, a second dive into the waters of a book. It’s overwhelming and I often feel like I’ll never have a last page. Actually I haven’t started writing it yet. I’m just seeing the people, getting a feel for the web of lives I will intersect. I realize it isn’t just a protagonist, there is a life, a history, generations of family. So there are dots and hyphens and outlines on my notebook pages and I can see people I like. People I hope you will know one day.

My first attempt at a book was disconnected. And naïve. I sat down at the computer and just started going, thinking the words would come and I’d learn about the characters as I went.

That was stupid. I couldn’t keep details straight. I changed, tweaked and rewrote everything with no direction but an end result. I wanted to get there quickly and, well that doesn’t make for very good reading.

The ideas tonight, the ones keeping my eyelids wide are on paper now. I’m going to settle in, give the night another shot. Of course, this means that someone will need to turn our bedroom handle. They will need cuddling and breakfast and cartoons. They will tell me of these needs with their morning breath and stale Pull-Up, which only a mother can appreciate.  

Though I think now, perhaps, the two hours of quiet was worth it. Coffee anyone?

“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.”

                                                                                                                -Saul Bellow