Morning, for writers holds so much promise. It’s more than that the blank slate of the day before you representing the potential of the page. For me it’s also the energy of the promise. There is something about being up before the birds and watching the color creep into the sky with your coffee cup in hand and a few good paragraphs knocked out on the page that fuels creativity.
This weekend we sat on the beach in San Diego and watched kids and seasoned adults paddle out on surfboards and boogie boards for hours, working to catch a wave at just the right peak and angle — all for less than 6 seconds of a ride. Over and over again they tumbled, or swirled in the anticlimactic gone-too-soon wave, but they kept setting themselves up for that promise.
For writers it’s the same. Getting up early, before the demands for lunches, clean socks and in-coming calls cloud the ability to catch just the right wave. If I can catch the writing wave, I can sail over so much of that noise.
When I camp, I love stories told over the heady glow of the night fire. But it’s morning before everyone is up that feeds the stories: the walk along the beach as the tide and sun return. The elk no one but me sees as I make my way to the creek. The coals from last night’s fire that warm swollen fingers enough to make breakfast over the fire.
Catching the morning writing wave reminds me too of arriving at the Grand Canyon just as the fog is rolling out. You know it’s there, you just need to be there when the fog lifts. But you have to show up, ready.
Waking before the rush finds a kind of silence that is really beautiful. I can think, take in the building light and sound and ride over it as I create on the page.