By Christopher Ryan
Occasionally, I awake in the wee hours, brain alive with thoughts that need immediate address (“Get Cheerios! Rewrite that chapter! Hey, let’s see what the bathroom looks like.”). Usually, this results in meandering around before discovering my sleepy zombie shuffle has lead me back to bed, nothing accomplished.
This early a.m. (2ish), I managed to get myself to the den, my writing table, laptop, and, finally, my WIP, a narrative horror poetry collection I am about to submit.
I am doing that last read aloud, when we fuss with the work, rewrite a line or stanza, and possibly add a new poem during this alleged final final phase, so I believed a half-asleep, creative zone read aloud would be okay.
Where did the Southern drawl come from? I didn’t know. I adjusted to the usual, casually detached tone that Glorious says is chilling. Read ten poems, changed four words and three line placements, and added a few stanzas, then went to back to bed satisfied that no remotes had been utilized, no time wasted.
The 2023 adventure is off to an interesting start, and better use of time.
Can’t wait to see what I wrote in that state.