It’s 3am. I am in the kitchen leaning awkwardly across the kitchen bench trying to garner some light from the microwave because the fridge light was too bright for my bleary eyes. As I scribble on my note pad, I hope I can write straight. I hope I can read it later.
In my sleepy state, this moment is not lost on me. A little flush of joy nests somewhere between my heart and lungs. A 3am idea. My 3am idea. It’s like seeing an old friend when you don’t have time to stop and chat – but you do stop and chat. This is more important than sleep, more important than inconvenience.
I hadn’t seen 3am Idea for over ten years. It came in the form of yesterday’s blog post. The last line (of course) and half of the rest of it floated in my cerebrum. It topped off an extraordinary week for me and my writing which is a little hilarious because, due to other life stuff, I had to dismiss myself from my recently enforced writing, blogging and internet schedule.
On Friday I completed a short story begun from a friend’s challenge that had begun from a sentence that had begun from a wordspark. Currently at 650 odd words, it is only monumental by my own standards – that’s a lot for me. And a lot for me to write in one day. And I got into it. I was excited by it and I resented leaving the computer when I had to. I cannot remember the last time I felt that way about writing. Probably the last time 3am Idea and I met.
I caught up with two friends over coffee, both of whom have amazing green eyes. As we sat there and chatted, I wondered how I could put those eyes into words. I followed a young woman down the escalator at the supermarket with incredible, clearly dyed, silver hair. I wondered if I could give that to a character, or create a character around it.
I know there is a bigger picture here, so I’m trying not to get too excited. This is one peak among many troughs to come. But I need to acknowledge this to myself. This is how I’m thinking. I’m living writing.
I like it.