riters are supposed to sit up all night in French cafés. And sleep until noon. And then, after pushing the prostitute out of their garret, they write totally magnificent prose.

Some writers, anyway. Well, probbaly none.

Right now I’m tired. Got the kittens fixed yesterday so between hunger, soreness, coming off their cat drugs and complete confusion, they were both up and down all night. And I didn’t get to bed until 1am anyway. No French cafés. Working on StoreyMinus, comforting whiny cats, and talking a lot on the phone. So there went the evening.

Now I’m here at work writing in my lunch break. Why? Because tonight is operations night at the club. It will run three hours, until 11pm or so, and we’ll run model trains through their paces, turning our club layout into a gigantic cooperative game (for more on this, look to the Train Blog at left). But this means another late night, and I’ll have to blog the session before bed tonight (as I always do) and have this blog ready to run tomorrow (as I always so). But when I get home the pussywillows will want to romp, I’ll need to put everything away, I’ll need to check my email. And, so, hello 1am, my old friend.

The point is that we never have good time to write. It’s stolen minutes when we are dead tired, distracted, not in the mood and generally doing everything life needs us to do. If you think you’ll find a quiet garret to write your Great American Novel, good luck with that dream. Otherwise, get ready write when unready, tired, unenthused, overworked, and distracted.

Really. Do you know how much time I lose in writing when kittens walk across my keyboard and I say “Awhhhhhh…..”

But I must have managed it. After all, you’re reading these words.

>>>SEE SOME OF THE NOVELS I DID MANAGE TO GET OUT THERE. FOLLOW THIS LINK<<<