It is 2:30 in the afternoon. I began today by waking up at 4:30 this morning to write. I was productive, though not so much with writing story, but with character development. I got the kids up afterward, got Mia off to school and then went for a run and a stop by the grocery store. I gave the boys lunch and put them down for a nap. I’ve done laundry and dishes. I have to pick Mia up from school at 4:20 and it’s quite possible that the boys will sleep until we have to leave, which gives me almost two more free hours. I want to spend this time writing, but I can’t seem to get into it. For a few reasons.
One. Mia pleaded to wear her cowgirl boots today (“I really love the way they click-clack down the hallway. I sound like a lady wearing high heels.”) But the forecast said rain so I made her wear rainboots. The sun has been shining all day without apology. It’s silly, but I can’t get it out of my head — how I wish she could have click-clacked her way through the day.
Two. Is it just me, or is there something about this time of day? My mind is scattered, unable to focus. I’m learning more and more that I prefer the early morning darkness for writing, but I don’t want to be a writer who can work only in the morning, or only at night, or only when the temperature is just so. I don’t want to wait for the time to be right, I want to command whatever time I have to my benefit. But lately, once I stop writing after those early morning hours, I let it go. I forget to begin again. And maybe, for now, this is okay. After all, living is still writing if you’re paying attention and asking the right questions.
Three. This space is on my mind. I need to devote more time to this space. I want to devote more time to this space. I’m figuring out how and when to do this. Until then, if you hear someone click-clacking down the hallway, it’s only me tap-tapping through an unbearably bright day.
Happy hump day.