Late night writing at 10:15pm because I get up earlier now. Late night writing used to be one. I feel like 12:15am was my cut off, back when I’d go for a nightly walk before coming back to the dorm and writing for forty-five minutes or whatever. First class would’ve been at eight or nine, I would’ve been going on way too little sleep. Because late night writing. I know what I was writing at the time–it was a screenplay–but it was also after I’d started taking creative writing classes. I wish I could read my stuff from my first creative writing class but I hated all of it. I hated all of my writing until MFA school when my advisor asked me why the hell I would write if I hated it. I was in my mid-twenties and had realized the answer–“because all my observations are so true to the human condition”–was bullshit. The passion became a puzzle. Writing’s a neat trick. You impress yourself sometimes. The puzzle is figuring out why sometimes the reader is impressed with something you aren’t and isn’t with something you are impressed with. It’s figuring out how you want it to work, which is a great sign for this micro-blogging effort–I’ll have a bunch of material to cull through.