Late Nights

Well, it's 12:45 AM here on the creek. The moon is shining only half-full, and Buddy, my basset hound, is sleeping on the couch, as per usual. Now and again, some wayward night creature howls or yowls from the woods behind the house, and I catch a glimpse of a deer making his/her way across the lawn and toward the water. Unlike the citizens of Churchill, Manitoba (I'm hoping I got the province right), I'm not facing polar bears as they follow their migration route down main street; however, deer migrate from their hide-outs in the woods to open pasture at night.

Why am I up? Well, normally I'm not, but my daughter is heading home from a business trip to Chicago. I thought I'd wait up to welcome her home and get some writing done in the mean time, but 'the best laid plans' and all that. I find that I do my best writing in short spurts not those long, laborious eight hour stints I used to pull. Oh, I got a lot of words in when I forced myself to sit in my relatively uncomfortable desk chair and write. Nowadays, I'm not doing that to myself. Nowadays, I'm writing when the inspiration strikes, and I don't keep pushing if that same inspiration dwindles away. It's called self-preservation.

I still have the same desire to be published, but I'm not so willing to kill myself in doing it. I WILL get an agent. Of that, I am certain. However, I must exercise patience along with all that perseverance. Between the day job and the nightly sojourns into Creative-ville, I've allowed very little time for me to be me. Wisdom comes to those who wait.