I think perhaps I love early mornings better than any other time of the day or night. It is sublimely quiet with little to break my train of thought concerning what I am thinking and writing. Even though I know differently, the world is at peace and everything is right in the universe.
Every word I have ever written was done in the early hours of the morning. The words come easily long before the sun rises; my mood is always conducive to creative thoughts void of daily aggravations. I am at peace – I am being an author – I am happy.
Our thinking as human beings has always been influenced by our surroundings. We take in our daily experiences over a period of time and that information is transposed into a book, poem or perhaps a song. We transform our life into words of prose begging to be read by others who cannot express their lives in the same manner.
Words are like a painting and the brush strokes are dictated by our experiences. It is so grand to be able to paint with words and, in the end, the painting tells a story that entertains, moves and sometimes even frightens us. Personally, I love fiction…there is no limit to the canvas as the tapestry of the story is conveyed to others.
I have been told that my novels drag you into a new world that you may not care to enter. But, alas, you have no choice and the journey starts until the end spits you out beleaguered, shocked and tired. I have done my job as an author and you clamor for another round of reading with yet another of my murder mysteries. An author can ask for no more than that of his or her readers.