Another Night Lost
After having spent all day cleaning the bathroom top to bottom, I was knackered yesterday and decided to have an early night. That’s how I found myself in bed at quarter past ten, still wide awake. I figured it wasn’t an issue, what with it still being slightly light outside. I settled in to check my usual online haunts and stumbled across a newly finished story written by an excellent author and former acquaintance of mine.
The problem? The story sits at just under 95,000 words. And great words, too! The kind of words that make me long for the days when writing was second nature to me, when all I had to do was sit down in front of an empty page and let the words pour out. The only writing I’ve done in the past few years (must be coming up on three years now, dear god) has been technical or academic — nothing creative whatsoever, and I really miss it…
Suffice to say, my plan of going to sleep early was thwarted quite spectacularly. I made myself put down my phone at ten to two, 273 pages into the 365-page epic. In the ongoing saga of sleep vs. fiction, fiction wins yet again.
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