I’m most productive on Saturday nights. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing nothing all day and I’m feeling guilty. I’ve never been one to work on Saturday afternoons, which were made for relaxation.
The nights are different though. It’s when I can concentrate on my writing. I’m tired. My guard is down.
The week comes pouring out.
This was written from the heart
With my back against the wall, I sit on the ground next to my back door, opening it to let the breeze drift in. Sometimes I turn my head to look outside and smell the night air. It’s cool, no matter the time of year. The street lamps are soft, and they bathe my back porch in warm light.
One can’t help but feel influenced by such serenity.
This was written out of order
I’ve become a slave to this blog. After some self-evaluation, I’ve come to realize that everything is inspired but forced. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, no more.
It’s time to start writing when I want.
