It’s nearing 2AM, and I’m invigorated by the quiet and glow of my laptop. It’s my favorite time to write, the middle of the night. Characters speak more loudly at that hour. Plot twists reveal themselves at decibel levels. So, I wait up. And listen.
I have the privilege of working from home, where I can set my own hours, work for two hours straight in the middle of the night, and then — sleep. I used to fight it. Thinking, this is irresponsible. People sleep at 2AM. Grownups, adults, 30-year-old women (ahem) should be asleep, with eye cream generously applied. That’s the responsible thing to do at this crazy hour. So, I’d force ideas to come during the day. Squeeze as much creativity as I could when the sun was up. But that only left me feeling sluggish, empty.
My college years were where I discovered my love of writing. And my love of staying up late, creating. Stories were built at midnight. Characters discovered at 3AM. I loved every minute of it because it was my time. Where only my and my stories’ breaths filled the room. We were undisturbed, and my productivity soared.
So why would I convert? To a daytime ritual that lacks inspiration? True, there are definite days I can crank out pages of work — days I have to work. But why cast aside precious writing time because of a fabricated feeling of irresponsibility? Because that’s what it is. Fabricated. What works for this 30-year-old may seem foolish to some. Childish to others. But it’s brilliant for me.
Now, when night comes, I climb into bed beside my sleeping husband. Pull the covers up. And confidently let the glow of my laptop warm my face. Then welcome what will come.