I’ve always loved mornings, but until I went to work for the post office in 1981, I didn’t fully realize how much of a morning person I was. When the job started, I was horrified to learn that my workday would start at 4:45 AM, especially since I had to drive 28 miles to get there. I wondered how I would survive getting up at 3:15 six days a week, especially since life as a wife and mother generally kept me up until 11:00 or so.
It was easy. Not the job—that never got easy—but I found that pre-dawn mornings are my most productive times. They are, whether I’m writing or sitting on the porch with tea or folding towels in the laundry room, my favorite time of day. I was still working when I wrote One More Summer, my fifth book and the one probably still closest to my heart. My start time at work was 5:15 by then, and I would get up at 3:00 to get an hour’s writing time in.
Years and several books later, I’m still an early riser. I’m usually in the office with my tea by 7:00. I’m not a word- or page-counter anymore. I write much slower than I used to, and I’ve learned to take what I can get as far as productivity goes.
But sometimes…just sometimes…the words come faster than I can type. My cup sits empty because I don’t want to take the time to fill it. If the phone rings, I am irritated by it because I’m not someone who can let it go unanswered. I find myself laughing aloud at things I have written, or mopping away tears at others. My internal editor, the most annoying entity in the world, is either silent or off bothering someone else.
This is the magic time, the time that makes writers keep writing on the days they hate it, the days they can’t write a publishable word, and the days when rejection has been the name of the game. It is a time of indescribable joy, and for people like me, it comes—as promised in Psalms—in the morning.
Retired from the post office, Liz Flaherty spends non-writing time sewing, quilting, and doing whatever else she wants to. She and Duane live in the old farmhouse in Indiana they moved to in 1977. They’ve talked about moving, but really…37 years’ worth of stuff? It’s not happening!
She’d love to hear from you at email@example.com or please come and see her at:
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