Bryony Prequel, Section One, Chapter 2: check!
Word count: 1378.
Faith, my calico, woke me up at three a.m., and I am happy for that, but not for my kitty's original intention. I had overslept, but her stomach clock had "dinged" an hour early, so for the next sixty minutes, she, and all her relatives, mournfully followed me around the house while I drank coffee and swept floors, wondering why I wasn't feeding them yet.
Living in a house that never sleeps means I rarely need to set an alarm clock, for I can always count on a "meow" or a phone alarm (Timothy sets it to take his medicine) waking me up should I snooze past my customary rising time.
Luckily, sleeping late rarely cripples my writing schedule, but it does cut into my housework time. A messy, disorganized house seems to breed messy, disorganized minds, which are definite handicaps when you and your family work and school from home.
For some people, those midnight cleaning sprees are insomnia cures only, but for me, they are the most logical times to clean the bathroom, scrub the floors, and note the little projects that need attention (the coffee cart needs reinforcing, the little white bathroom table requires a coat of paint, and the aluminum can bag needs changing).
That's because I not only live in a small house with any number of people and cats moving about it all day long, my life revolves around deadlines, jumping from task to task all day long, and extinguishing fires. Three o'clock in the morning cleaning marathons afford me a long stretch of quiet time, perhaps accompanied by my mP3 player and ear plugs, to scrub, clean, and mentally write. This last is very important since it dramatically cuts down the amount of time I sit staring at a blank screen when I should be typing masterpieces.
And speaking of masterpieces, the computer clock says 6:37. Time to get cracking on that novel!
Word count: 1378.
Faith, my calico, woke me up at three a.m., and I am happy for that, but not for my kitty's original intention. I had overslept, but her stomach clock had "dinged" an hour early, so for the next sixty minutes, she, and all her relatives, mournfully followed me around the house while I drank coffee and swept floors, wondering why I wasn't feeding them yet.
Living in a house that never sleeps means I rarely need to set an alarm clock, for I can always count on a "meow" or a phone alarm (Timothy sets it to take his medicine) waking me up should I snooze past my customary rising time.
Luckily, sleeping late rarely cripples my writing schedule, but it does cut into my housework time. A messy, disorganized house seems to breed messy, disorganized minds, which are definite handicaps when you and your family work and school from home.
For some people, those midnight cleaning sprees are insomnia cures only, but for me, they are the most logical times to clean the bathroom, scrub the floors, and note the little projects that need attention (the coffee cart needs reinforcing, the little white bathroom table requires a coat of paint, and the aluminum can bag needs changing).
That's because I not only live in a small house with any number of people and cats moving about it all day long, my life revolves around deadlines, jumping from task to task all day long, and extinguishing fires. Three o'clock in the morning cleaning marathons afford me a long stretch of quiet time, perhaps accompanied by my mP3 player and ear plugs, to scrub, clean, and mentally write. This last is very important since it dramatically cuts down the amount of time I sit staring at a blank screen when I should be typing masterpieces.
And speaking of masterpieces, the computer clock says 6:37. Time to get cracking on that novel!
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