I wake up to the light of a tall candle on the altar in the hall. Outside, the rain splatters over everything. If we lived anywhere else, the parking lot next door would be a sheet of ice.
I’ve spent the better part of the last couple of weeks, immersed in a number of writing projects — I wake up and plunge back in, writing and editing both. I had a blog post forming that I wanted to write yesterday, about I’d begun to wake up with ideas, how I’d wake up ready to write, how writing begets more writing. It seemed like a great message, especially on the day after the last day of NaNoWriMo, when folks might need some encouragement to keep on writing every day, keep on with that regular writing practice that they’d established over a month writing that novel.
My sweetheart was up at 4am to head out on a business trip, and I was about to get up after her — as painful as it was going to be after a lazy weekend, I was ready to move back into my own routine. I’d even asked her to turn on the coffee, which almost always assures that I’ll get up, out of a desire not to waste it — no matter that the coffee’s decaf these days, the old habits die hard.