I'm working on a book. Good lord, who isn't? but what the hell, I like my own writing so I figure I'm just keeping myself entertained, if nothing else.
This book was brewing for awhile, and I've mentioned it before; I wrote a hundred pages or so, and then put it aside. But in the last couple of weeks, it's come to life again, seemingly of its own accord. The problem is, it wakes up at night. Late, late at night. After everyone goes to bed but me, the characters need attention.
So I drink an entire pot of coffee and go at it. I haven't been getting to sleep before 4 a.m. I'm up at 7:30. I feel certain that's not enough sleep. Seriously, I'm a girl who needs 9 hours.
But I find that I'm almost enjoying the strange, dreamy feeling that I have during the day. Perhaps it's just that I'm not quite sleep-deprived enough yet. But I like the middle of the night too, the privacy. And sometimes I think of all the people I run into here, from other countries and time zones all around the world, up and about in their daylight hours while I sit writing in the dead dark of the Brooklyn night. I like that thought.