Sleeping In

Word was my wife would be arriving late from work on Thursday around 11:30 p.m. (don't ask) . . . and so I decided to make a late night, a VERY late night, of catching up on some writing.  I pulled out an old folder littered with stories of various style and variety, and began re-writing with the intent to improve where I could (using brutal and painful self-criticism, which is a great Lenten practice) and throw out what could not be redeemed (creative damnation).

Long past midnight I ended up with seven . . . count 'em . . . seven new-and-improved stories that I subsequently either attached to email or printed and posted for shipment on Friday.  Some great stuff here, if I do say so myself.  Two science fiction tales, a couple of mysteries (one hardboiled), a romance, a literary slice of life, and even a modern western.  All told, I was 30,000 words into the mix--and that's a bunch of pages for one evening.

It's been quite a while since I wrote this long and this hard toward daylight, and by the time my wife returned home and had said "Goodnight" I was still going strong, and ended the session by jotting down a dozen new ideas that I want to get at some day . . . some day.

First chance I get.

By the time I scooted into bed I felt like I was drunk on words.  I get that way sometimes.  I'd had too much to write. 

But I dreamed a love poem.  And I plan to recite it to Becky over the weekend.

If I don't fall asleep.