It’s 2 in the morning and room temperature is 31° Celsius. That’s 88° Fahrenheit. I’m sitting before my PC in humid, stifling heat. Perspiration is rolling down my forehead in rivulets as I write this.
I’ve seen a couple of accidents today where in both instances the cars mounted the road curb and wrapped itself around a lamp post and a tree respectively. I didn’t slow down to gawk like others do but I did see and ambulance approaching. Hopefully those involved are fine.
It’s things like this that affects you for the whole day and possibly more because you can’t seem to get the sight out of your head. This shall in turn affect your writing. You tend to write darker stories that are more aggressive or morbid. You also tend to write more and write faster as you realise how fragile life is and you are afraid you will leave manuscripts incomplete. Only thing worse than that is leaving without saying goodbye to your loved ones.
That’s why I persevere. Reminding myself of my mortality.