When most of the day is swallowed by the night, I find myself mostly writing in the dark. There’s a special kind of stillness about it that I like.
It sounds different. There’s not the light chorus of birds, only the distant, ominous droning of passing aeroplanes.
Even though it’s an illusion, for that hour, you can kid yourself into thinking that everyone else is slumbering bar yourself and the characters which you stir into being.
Surprises linger in the shadows.
Darkness leaks into the world you write.