It's ten thirty, and I'm still awake. Time was I could stay up past midnight, and often did. I used to work swing shift, for cryin' out loud. Worked until midnight, then came home and talked with my wife until two or three in the morning. That was before our first baby came along.
I got used to writing in the early morning. I'd get up at five and write until seven or a little after. Made me late for work a few times when I got on a roll.
But as the days gave way to long winter darkness, it wasn't working for me anymore. So I switched to nights this week. So far, it's working pretty well.
Besides, my narrator is writing his letters late at night. This gets me in the same frame of mind. Everything feels different at night. Bleak and impatient.
Sunsets always look different than sunrises, even though they're both the same basic phenomenon.
Last time I tried writing at night, it didn't last long. We'll see if I can convert back into a night person again.