For the past fifty days

For the past fifty days, I’ve been writing at night. I am often not functional in the morning, and the brief time I do claim in the early hours often goes toward reading. And so I’ve found myself writing these entries late, frequently from my bed, as I struggle to keep my eyes open for just one more sentence. And while some nights I manage to write something I feel is of worth, more and more the past several weeks I’ve noticed a lack of inspiration when I need it most.

The mornings, however, are a period of supreme alertness—this is why I usually read in the mornings; I can focus intently. Starting this weekend, I’m going to attempt to prioritize writing in the mornings. I’m curious how my morning thoughts may differ from the evening’s. Perhaps lingering dreamscapes will inspire fiction, or a faint waking memory will trigger a previously lost story from my childhood. Whatever the case, I won’t be falling asleep at the keys.