5 am Ritual to Write
A morning battle to create something from nothing
As the clock ticked away, there was no inspiration to write. I wake every morning around 5 am to heal my soul, yet this morning felt different. I was buzzing with worry. I needed my self-therapeutic fix before leaving for work. There I would be isolated in a truck during long cold days, delivering packages to warm homes unable to write, except in my head. My mobile prison.
It is only in the few morning hours where I can engage in creative writing. After drafting a poetic thought, a scene for a yet unfinished novel, or an article about my basic life, I nourish my spirit. Then with a feeling of accomplishment, I am fit to engage in long grueling workdays.
It has become my ritual of writing that defines me as a writer.
I’ve heard authors state that writers write often. It is in the discovery of a first draft where we find our mold of clay. An imperfect collection of words, attempting to convey an idea from one mind to another. Something for me to shape over time, perfect, and display.
The act of sitting and staring at a blank screen defines our willingness to look inside ourselves for inspiration. We are alone, crafting magic with our imagination—the first programmers of the human mind. Our words are code, our prose information, and our stories software.
I’ve welcomed the sun with doubts concerning my choice of word content in an article or poem after submitting it to a publication. Would someone read what I created and find meaning, inspiration, a shared understanding? Or did I just send out a virus that would find rejection and ridicule?
Every morning I boil water to fill an oversized mug of tea. I sit at the keyboard and sit. I feel resistance in the form of doubt radiating from my chest into my arms and down to my fingers held over an illuminated keyboard.
We are writers and alone break down our own walls. We struggle with our insecurity, pain, memories, and regrets to gather material for our craft. Then transfer these raw emotions into words, pounding out demons to share. We gather our lump of clay.
The clock keeps ticking, reminding me this moment will end.
I write through an emotional block, harvesting it for ideas. I follow the rabbit hole of my mind, writing at the moment, letting my fingers dictate a new morning’s creation.
I stop. Then read a collection of words displayed on my screen. Maybe, there is something of a theme?
After I take a sip from my mug, I begin to mold the words, hoping to uncover a message hidden inside this lump of clay sitting on my screen. The task of editing focuses my mind, giving me perspective, allowing me to anchor wandering thoughts into a more focused idea.
I transform the strange words that have a meaningless connection. Then ply them together to form something resembling a sentence. I work out my tension as the clock ticks away from my morning’s task. In a fury of frustration, I finish my thought. Winning the battle with my demons that had tried to keep me from my discipline to write.
A life, a family, a full-time job have been my excuse to stop. It is difficult to be an artist who uses words as their medium. For the writer uses the magic of language to display their soul.
copyright CMad Poet 2021
In sharing my morning struggles, I hope you, too, can find the strength to continue writing!
Christopher Madsen (CMad Poet), author of the Limerick books:
Ice Cream for Breakfast on Mondays and Tacos for Brunch on Tuesdays