All it takes is a moment of pause to change… I wrote that line years ago, and had no idea how often it would return as a central thought.
I’ve been aware of so much synchronicity lately, listening to the rumblings in my gut that have nothing to do with the hunger satisfied by food, and today there is another roll of thunder inside, a surge, an urge to decide to do something different. I’m listening. I’m listening. I’m listening.
I’ve always been a late-night, all-night writer, looking up from the page or the screen to find the sun had already broken through the branches and the space between my curtain and the pane, and I’ve loved the quiet of the long, dark hours preceding the return of the sun, the quiet beyond my room, as if the entire world sleeps while I slip into a fiction that I hope to find the phrasing for, to do justice to the people existing there, to convey their human experience in an honest enough way that at least one person recognizes her/himself and remembers that none of us is perfect.
And the dark hours have been generous over the past years; I have loved 4am probably more than any hour, as it is the quietest, the coldest, the calmest.
But today a need dictates a reversal of direction, and I’m listening. It’s clear, I have loved the dark road for long enough, and now it’s time to see the scenery through the windshield and all around. The night is for vampires, and I don’t have the fangs; plus, writing (for me) is an act of giving blood, not the exsanguination of another’s.
So, for tomorrow my alarm is set for sunrise. I’ll start to spill just as the sun does its colors. I’ll give it a try, this writing in the morning thing that I here some people swear by. If you see me later in the day, don’t be surprised if I have the look of a guy who stayed up all night.