It's 3:50 a.m. and due to malfunction of alarm clock, I am sitting on my couch in full make-up already having downed first cup of coffee of the day. To be honest, it was a user malfunction, not so much the alarm clock's fault, after all the poor clock is an inanimate object that does what it is told. If the NTSB came to check out the wreckage of my life today, they would declare human error. The honest-to-God truth is that I intended to take a nap yesterday and set my alarm for 2:30 so I could pick up kids at 3, and I sorta kinda forgot to change the time when I popped the little plug on the alarm last night. So here I am.
Early morning is good to me. I get up at 5 daily and get to work producing my 250 words. It's a modest goal but hey, I had to make it achievable even after late-night port-drinking sessions. (Port quickly becoming new obsession along with French bistro cooking. Admit it, you want to join me, don't you??). At my novelist group's holiday dinner held at the venerable Hopleaf Bar in lovely and scenic and formerly Scandinavian Andersonville, we figured out that each one of us (except me at that time, but look, I'm reformed) got up at 5 to meet what you might call the writing muse. Here I am, muse. Time to pop over to the novel and see what the muse has in mind today.