Dead Of Night

Sounds like one of those spooky stories I turn out.

The wee hours.

I like writing at night. No one is around, except for Carmen, keeping silent company and sentry duty.

It's quiet. Nothing but me and my thoughts.

Dead of night, still of night, all is calm but not balm.

In fact, it's not always calm.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, doubts come like ghosts that haunt the soul.

They threaten to choke creativity. They stultify reason and there is a moment where the tide of emotion could paralyze.

But, it is also that time when clarity is company and comes to the fore.

The battle of wits ensues.

Press on, press on, there is more to write the muse ensures.

And press on I do.

For, the need to teach, to share, overcomes those whispering wisps of waffling distrust.

The need to learn comes to bear and answers me with my wandering words as I seek to study and research my work. And those who care to comment and answer are witnesses to my efforts.

So, the dead of night is not dead at all, but a very lively time when much that I do gets done.