I am a nocturnal writer. a solitary writer. Nighttime is my time.
Inspiration sets in when the sun sets out – when the sky turns a haunting shade of black. A bedtime black.
Like a perched owl within the dark forest looking for its prey, I embark on a midnight journey of writing – hunting for my nocturnal words. They are out there, waiting to be plucked like stars off the night sky, like silvery leaves off the sleeping trees, like glistening waves off the shadowy sea. They are out there *silent* but there.
in the oddness of the black hours, thinking through my thoughts and preying on my words, the writer and the critic emerge. They contrast, they compare, they clash, they concur. A moment absolutely satiating… and the lingering bliss of it all.
“The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson