One Of Those Nights

It was one of those nights. My muse didn’t recognize my need for sleep and refused to issue permission to shut down my brain and close my eyes.

Such times are productive, even though I feel like shit in the morning. I’m exaggerating for effect, of course; I really don’t know how shit feels. I feel guilty, implying that shit feels terrible. For all I know, shit feels great.

Sorry for the shitty detour. I know, terrible humor. Hey, I just confided that I had a rough night. Grant me some latitude.

Back to the muses’ nocturnal gallop through my mind. I’d just been complimenting my muse (or muses – I think there’s a congress of muses within me) about the pleasant week of systematic writing established and reflecting on the progress made. When last I left off writing yesterday, I had a damn good idea of where I was next going.

I’m still going there, but the dark silence of night brought out the muses like they were in heat. Instead of allowing me to sleep, wake up today, and go walk and write to work out details, the muses began shotgunning details into me. The people look like these. These are their names. They’re all women, and —

It’s not polite to ignore your muse, and it’s rude to tell them to shut up. I obliged them by listening. When I thought they’d finished, I attempted to use one of my honored processes to engage sleep. I thought it worked, too, but then, the muses thundered out anew.

When sleep and I finally met, quicksilver dreams rushed in, flashing kaleidoscopes of scenes and words. Awakening, I had a lot to think about between dreams and night writing, and a desire for about four more hours of sleep.

Got a big ol’ cup of dark, unadulterated caffeine loaded coffee steaming in a mug to my right. Time to write like crazy and get all this stuff down, at least one more time.



Olifloofchy (catfinition) – a clowder in which a small group of felines exercise control for selfish reasons.

In use: “The clowder wanted to play but the olifloofchy gave warning looks, and all the cats remained still, waiting for the next event.”

Monday’s Theme Music

When I heard “Share the Land” by the Guess Who, I knew that wasn’t Randy Bachman on the guitar. The style sounded different. Nothing against Bachman, who did some excellent playing with the Guess Who (like “American Woman”) and with BTO, but I really liked the guitar’s fast, fluid movements and high notes on “Share the Land.”

Because of that one song, I became a Kurt Winter fan. He died of kidney disease when he was fifty-one, but he left some wonderful performances to remember him. I like how Burton Cumming’s honky-tonk style piano in this song underscores Winter’s guitar work.


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