Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

A major change in direction, a sudden surge of goodwill toward the world and all mankind, a return of interest in my own thoughts, and I sit up, wide awake, at 3:15 a.m.

I let the puppy out to potty so she can sleep longer and then pull a stack of pages into bed. I have a midnight clarity about the article that has been accepted for publication. I recline comfortably, curled up with the snoring dogs, and make long red strokes through unnecessary paragraphs. I draw arrows and circle key phrases. Shift this, flip that, this section is unclear — go back and work it until it makes sense again.

I eliminate redundancy and inconsistency and the article once again feels solid — stable. It is ready to be seen by others in this new form. I pad through the dark, quiet house into the kitchen where I slice an apple and bring the peanut butter jar back to bed. These changes are good, and must be finalized. It is now 5 a.m. and I sit down to the final edit. I am not tired. I feel alive.

Crunch.