The nighthawk
Last night, I had one eye on philosophy and one on Karin and the kitties and one on the NBA Finals. I watched Stephen Curry drain his nine three-pointers (a Finals record). I am for Curry and his Warriors when they play against the Cavs; and, it seems, so are the referees. Perhaps, when the series moves to Cleveland, the calls will go the other way.
The game finished before 11:00pm. I finished writing around 2:15am. Karin and Ziva had gone to sleep. Jasper was begging for attention, and he’d torn open a bag of Doritos.
I wonder how long I’ll keep going to bed so late. Apparently, when they’re tired enough, writers lose their inhibitions and become more able to add words to the page. It certainly has proved true with me in the last month or so. This has been one of the most productive periods of my career. For years, I used to reserve the night hours for entertainment, thinking I’d be too tired to get anything done, but that was exactly the wrong way of going about it. (I should’ve known better since I write so many of my blog posts late at night.)
The game finished before 11:00pm. I finished writing around 2:15am. Karin and Ziva had gone to sleep. Jasper was begging for attention, and he’d torn open a bag of Doritos.
I wonder how long I’ll keep going to bed so late. Apparently, when they’re tired enough, writers lose their inhibitions and become more able to add words to the page. It certainly has proved true with me in the last month or so. This has been one of the most productive periods of my career. For years, I used to reserve the night hours for entertainment, thinking I’d be too tired to get anything done, but that was exactly the wrong way of going about it. (I should’ve known better since I write so many of my blog posts late at night.)