A quick check on the children. Stroking a forehead, tucking in feets.
Then the night belongs to me and my muses.
A cup of fragrant Yogi tea. A glas of wine.
Ritual to settle the mind before a deep dive. Immersion in past trauma, old harmful programming. Writing for hours upon hours, transforming fear and hurt. Into witty words. Beautiful stanzas. World’s born from imagination. Spinning rhymes, sounding syllables,.
Following feets and meters.
Word alchemy to heal.
The witching hour passes. The muses depart. Another night sacrificed.
Tomorrow comes the work of typing it up. Revising and editing for publication.
© RedCat
Time for Friday Fictioneers, and this time I landed in another installment of turning my life into fictional tales.
To read other stories inspired by the same photo. Click the frog.
The world according to RedCat 
I love the imagery.
Thank you!
Very evocative. Good writing!
Thank you!
How many of us have spent nights like this I wonder!
You summed the experience up well
So real, I think any of us who are serious about writing can identify. Well done.
Many will turn to reading in this strange time. So we need writer more than ever. Writer of all kinds.
“old harmful programming” is a powerful metaphor. Really enjoyed this.
Wonderful!
There is so much truth in this.
I have never been much of a night writer… but I would love to be… it sounds so romantic.