Waking up in the middle of the night or in the earliest hours of the morning, when everyone else is still sleeping so soundly, and the world is still so quiet you can taste the silence…
This old wooden house with its squeaking floorboards makes it impossible to get up and move around, so you just lie there, stories gnawing at your mind, whispering into your ears to write them down. And the more you resist, the more they talk, shout, cajole and nibble at your mind.
Still, sometimes some good even comes out of it. My guess is that per every thousand insomniac writers out there, one good story is bound to come up, right? Better odds than insomniac politicians actually helping people.
So, I’m good. Every thousandth time I can’t sleep, I actually have a shot at writing something worthwhile.
I can live with those odds. Can’t sleep though, but hey, sleep is overrated.
Anita Kovacevic
Anita's Haven 