It's three in the morning, and I've just finished the rough draft of a short story that's been kicking around my head these last few days. I'm only stopping because AVG has started running, telling me I've stayed up too late again.
Sometimes I'll do that. I'll write the story in my head, and then sit down, and spill it out from start to finish in one marathon session. It's rough; I'll probably change half of it during revision, but it's finished.
Long ago, the only thing that would produce such a profusion of writing would have been a paper due at 8AM the next day. Now I have no excuse, other than the muses have decided to visit me. (Perhaps appropriate, considering this particular story is set during Minoan and Mycenaean Greece.)
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