I do my best writing work between the hours of 4 and 10 each morning. Much of this, as I’m sure you’ll understand, is due in large part to the lack of distractions that encroach on one’s time at that hour. There’s usually no frantic emails coming in saying that XY and Z need my current attention, nothing is suddenly going to break down and need fixing, unlike most of my day when I need to supervise my PA’s and ensure they have what they need in order to get work done, the house is empty and still, save for the grey kitten curled up beside me and my flatmate in the next room over. Both are fast asleep.
This morning I got up early in hopes of continuing the work on the play I’m attempting to write by 26 June. But with the days now getting longer, by the time I’m actually out of bed the sun is already telling me I am late to my computer, making it just a bit harder to get an edge on the day. It’s a race and during this season I am the perpetual loser.
I am used to being productive under the early morning cover of darkness. I grew up waking up at 5 AM, turning on M*A*S*H each morning on FX and doing therapy. It’s been trained in me from the age of about eight or nine that these are the hours to be the most productive, to get stuff done when there is little else to do, and ensure that even if nothing else goes the way you’ve planned for the day, you were able to get what really mattered done.
This early morning hours are precious to me, the water on the Thames is still outside my window as the clipper has yet to travel past. Sometimes the writing stays focused on the task at hand and other times I find myself writing blogs when I am supposed to be working on a new play (like now). But it’s all good stuff, written in the silence of a world that has yet to awaken, except for myself, my laptop, and the small grey cat on my bed. Each of us doing exactly what we are meant to be doing at this hour.