But What a Shame That All We’ve Shared Can’t Last

I’m an early bird. I have to write before the sun comes up and the birds start their chorus. I can’t touch email, facebook, insta or my latest obsession tik tok. Tik tok is a brilliant name for the platform because you literally hear the clock ticking down as you throw the best years of your life away watching videos of dogs sleeping and middle aged couples trying to lure each other to dance, and firemen who dance to Billie Jean. You hear the sound of your life being drained from you, your mind retreating into a fine bowl of apple sauce. So before that and work and children and husband and my own darn dog needing a walk and water and food and belly rubs, I get up to write. My house quiet, my brain as quiet as it will get. I used to write at night when I was young. I also used to smoke. Writing and smoking was heaven. Of course, I used to write poetry then. One boy I kissed said my mouth tasted like an ashtray.

When do you write?