Some nights, the words don’t stop.

They pop up in your head, whisper in your ear, perhaps dance before your eyes. They won’t let you sleep. You toss and turn, kick off the blanket, pull it over your head, but still they come, assaulting you, defending you from slumber.

You have no choice.

You might grab your phone, and scribble down a few lines. Or you might get your notebook, if the visceral act of slashing a pen across the pages makes it more satisfying. Eventually you’ll get your laptop, churning out the paragraphs as if your very breath depended on it.

Next thing you know it’s 5am.

But you’ve paid your dues, sacrificed your sleep, put in the time. The words leave you alone for now, and finally you yawn. Your eyelids droop, and you feel your body getting heavy.

The words will let you sleep. For now.

As you drift off, you think, why, in God’s name, this writer’s life for me?