The Best Time To Write

When is the best time to write….for you anyway.  I’ve read in several articles that it’s always best to write first thing in the morning because you’re refreshed and ready to start a new day.  Seriously?  I’m barely conscious first thing in the morning.  I do well after a few cups of coffee, but then I only write my non-fic articles.  When it comes to the fiction stuff, I do my best work after dark.

I think it’s because that’s when I finally had time to sit down and do something for myself.  When I was a kid, that’s when the chores were done–homework was done–and the folks were off to bed.  I’d sit in my room in the quiet and write my stories.  After having kids of my own, night time was the only time I had to myself and didn’t have babies under foot.

Now that my kids are all grown, you’d think I’d be able to write anytime I wanted.  The truth is I still do my best work after everyone has gone off to bed.  It’s quiet and the ideas rolling around in my brain start to get a bit louder than normal.  I find it relaxing and it even helps me sleep better to get all that stuff out of my head because it can get quite noisy in there and it’s hard to sleep with all those people in there yakking and trying to get their voices heard.

When is your best time to write?  Are you a day writer or do the words flow more easily at night?

Creating A Project

The online writing community can be a tough neighborhood, especially for new writers. It’s harder for unestablished writers to get their work noticed, even if they’re experts in their genre. You might have a ton of ideas, but not sure where to go with them. My advice is to start your own projects.

If you write poetry or short stories, try starting a critique group or discussion group. There are several options for this online or you can get one started in your own community. Another idea is to create a forum or message board for those who write in your genre. If you’re a non-fiction writer, you might look into ghost writing. Another option is to talk to some of your local businesses about doing ad copy for them. You’ll be amazed at how many store owners know nothing about advertising.

Some writers have created their own author pages, giving details about their achievements and any upcoming events. Some have used their knowledge to create online e-courses, while others have created their own writing services. Just remember that if you do something along these lines, always check your facts. No matter how much you know, or think you know, there is always someone out there ready to point out your mistakes.

Whatever project you create, set goals for yourself. Start out small and work your way up to bigger and better things. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, even if they sound dumb to you. There are lots of other writers out there who are more than happy to help. Most importantly, never give up. Even if you only work on your project for an hour a day, keep at it. You might just end up creating something that the rest of the world has been waiting for and didn’t even realize it.

The Legend

(The following is a work of fiction.  This short story was written by Christine Senter in August of 2009.  Any resemblance between this story and an actual event are purely coincidental.  No part of this story may be copied and/or used in any other venue without the expressed permission of the author.  All rights reserved.)

As he climbed through another clump of bushes, Paul could see the mouth of the cave.  There it was just as the old map had shown.  Could he possibly be in a place that hadn’t seen a human in almost two hundred years?

Six months earlier, Paul Montgomery was in a small town library in upstate Maine.  He was going through and studying some of the local manuscripts and newspapers when he spotted something that instantly caught his eye.  In the middle of one of the books of court papers from the original village was an old hand-drawn map.

Paul had been around this region off and on for almost twenty years and knew there was something different about this old map.  According to the older map, there was a cave just forty miles from town.  When he looked at a current map there was no sign of it and that set Paul’s mind in motion.

He talked to some of the older folks in town trying to get as much information about the cave as he could, but nobody seemed to know anything about it.  He did, however, pick up on one of the local legends and thought that maybe the two went together.

The story said that before there was a village, pirates camped on an outcrop that had once jutted out over the ocean.  They supposedly buried a large amount of loot in a deep pit in the rocks.  The ocean protected the rocks for all but one hour of every day.  Otherwise the waves would crash in with such force, that to try to steal the bounty would surely get a man killed.

Finally the legend claimed that Captain Frederick Smythe went mad with fever and murdered his entire crew, fearing that they would take his treasure.  He killed the last man beneath the outcrop where they had camped which angered God so much that he caused the earth to shake and the outcrop crumbled down on top of the captain.  The rocks that held his stolen treasure were lost to the sea forever.

Paul learned every detail and version of the story he could and tried to find the few shards of truth within them.  He sat for hours on the rocky shoreline, searching for a hint of what was no longer there.  He took dozens of pictures from every possible angle and studied them relentlessly.

Finally he began to put all the pieces together.  He laid a tracing of the older map over a current map.  He figured that the cave would show up somewhere within the harbor, which had been proven to have widen since the late seventeenth century.  To his surprise it showed that the cave was quite a ways inland and should still be there in the forest.

Quickly he threw some supplies into a duffel bag and jumped into his jeep.  He followed the road as far as it would go but the cave was shown to be at least another five miles into the forest.  He left the jeep there and started climbing through the bushes which had brought him to this moment.

Slowly he moved on, knowing that there could be any variety of wild animals inside.  He pulled a flashlight out of his pack and picked up a small tree branch.  Wildly, he began yelling and banging the branch on the sides of the cave entrance.  Hundreds of bats swarmed from the cave and caused Paul to fall back down the hill.

He managed to get up and headed back for the cave.  He picked up his flashlight and went inside.  The stench of bat was almost more than he could bear, but still he pressed on.  Deeper into the cave, he began to see a faint scribbling on the walls.  It was three letters and a date.  “CFS 1692”, he stated out loud, “Captain Frederick Smythe”.

He looked around the cave a little longer but found nothing else.  He left feeling as though he had been transported through time.  He had stood in a place that hadn’t seen another person in two hundred years  Though he knew he had a lot more searching to do, he was thrilled to know that he had found a  little piece of truth in an old legend.