Maybe this is just from bad habits from my past, when the only time I had free to write (free from work concerns and other interference) was the late depths of the night. Is this just me or do other people suffer from this writing insomnia?
 

However, I was just reading this news article today: http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20040121/ap_on_he_me/sleep_creativity_4

quote:

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For the first time, scientists say they have proved what creative minds have known all along: that our sleeping brains continue working on problems that baffle us during the day, and that the right answer may come more easily after eight hours of rest.

The German study is considered to be the first hard evidence supporting the commonsense notion that creativity and problem-solving appear to be directly linked to adequate sleep.

---

I do my writing at night, mainly because that is the only time I have peace and quite. If I get 5 hours of sleep at night durring the week I'm doing good.
 

She thought that the doctors should do something so I slept at least 8 hours or more.

I think in those studies, if they take people who are used to getting 8 hours and then don't let them have 8 hours of course they are going to have trouble. But there are people who do well on very little sleep. I sleep too much and I don't do well. I am crabby and cranky.

I also do my best writing in the wee morning hours or late at night. Have to sleep from about 1 am till 5 though.

Shawn
 

Too much sleep is a problem I have also, but mine shows up in the form of massive migrain headaches. On the weekends I have to make sure I don't sleep more than eight hours or I'm going to regret it.
 

"Aye, sor," drooled Mr. Pibb, unaware of the terrible pun. "Mr. Pibb, yer grace! No finer refreshment this side o' the mystic Pool o' Fanta!"

The slobbering, pop-eyed hunchback lurched towards the Lady von Pepper.

"Oh!" said Lady von Pepper. "That Mr. Pibb is foul and leprous! He will touch me, and besmirch my virtue!"

"Move away from my Lady!" warned the Count. "Surely you will be taught manners befitting your grubby station."

Mr. Pibb farted. Hell's own stench fogged the air in the drawing room. Flies fell dead on the carpet. The Count's hand went to his sword.

"Surely this is no man, but a demon," thought von Pepper. "Very well - I shall send this nasty lumpen sirrah back to the mephistophelian cesspool from which he was born!"

The loathsome Mr. Pibb lurched again, his scabby, feces-stained claws reaching for the Lady. The Count drew his sword; blood would spill this night, and surely not the blood of nobility.

Your move, Pibb Boy.

[This message has been edited by ccwbass (edited January 22, 2004).]
 

Sorry, Kathleen. He challenged My Precious. Shall I delete this?
 

I don't know how I got to this point, must be shear grit and determination. But oh how I craved it that first week, and the headaches! Boy I don't recommend going cold turkey to anyone!

It is just juice and water for me, although hearing your flirtations with it, almost makes me want to shotgun a can right now.
 

I do go a little overboard when I get all silly, though. Sorry 'bout that.
 

Speeking of lack of sleep, I bet I will still see 1 am...
 

Not to toot my own horn, but "slobbering, pop-eyed hunchback" is pretty darn funny.

TruHero: Resist the temptation. See what excessive sugar and caffeine consumption has done to me? I was a nice, polite boy once, before I encountered 12 ounces of corruption in an aluminum can.

[This message has been edited by ccwbass (edited January 22, 2004).]
 

I can't say I was expecting it when that filthy doctor from down the street crashed through my office window, but I wasn't exactly surprised, either. After a few years in this neighborhood, nothing really surprises you anymore.

"Dr. Pepper," I said, grinding my cigarette out on my desk. "Nice of you to drop in." (I'm sorry, that was bad, but I couldn't resist.)

The good doctor was bleeding like a mafia accountant. Apparently someone had finally gotten fed up with his crap. He was a weak little punk, didn't have the moxy that some of us have, myself included. In fact, in my opinion, he was nothing but a trumped-up, little sissy that deserved everything he got, as long as it was bad.

And this time, it was definitely bad.

"I taste so good," Dr. Pepper gurgled through the blood in his throat. "What a wonderful ambrosia I am."

That was just the kind of nonsense that made me hate him so much. Everybody knew that there was only one wonderful ambrosia, and I was it. I pulled out my little revolver and put a couple slugs in his head. Just wanted to be careful. The last thing I needed was him getting back up and spreading his weak, over-commercialized, undercarbonated bullcrap in my office.

Now I had a case. I needed to find out who had delivered this little package to me like this, all full of lead and leaking on my hardwood floors.

I wanted to thank them personally for making the world a better place. Now everybody knew that I was the only game in town, and Dr. Pepper had nothing on me, Mr. Pibb.

Put that one in your Dr. Pepper bottle and drink it, ccw.
 

"I could . . . have had a Coke, and . . . a smile."

And then my Pep fizzled out. For good.
----------

Bravo, Water-Soaked William. Ya give as good as you get. I salute you, sir.
 

If you condition yourself gradually, say five minutes later every one or two nights, then eventually you'll get to the stage where you don't need to sleep ever and you can write a novel in half the usual time.
 

I give you points for responding in kind. I was so happy to see that someone got the joke that I was happy to kill myself off out of sheer gratitude. Poor Kathleen - I think she was expecting a long, bitter exchange.

As for staying up longer, my most successful technique involves having a nervous breakdown. It's good for at least 48 hours.