I enjoy writing late at night. Well, not late, but after 10 p.m. or so. I actually turn down most, if not all, the lights, flip open my well worn, well used iBook and begin writing, my hands illuminated by the glow of the ever bright screen. No books open, television on as background noise for comfort and countless words coming to mind. None of the words are original. They're normally words, sentences or plots that I had read earlier in the day. I don't worry about this. I find solace in this. At times. At other times I fear for my loss of creativity, if I had ever had any to begin with. But it's the words in my books that spark my imagination and excite me every time I crack open a new book and fold over a new cover, flip through the yellowing pages and begin my newest challenge. It's dark and quiet in my apartment. The light from the t.v. acts as my lamp, but my books light my way.

Now reading:
Jon Fasman The Geographer's Library

Now watching:
Henry Louis Gates Jr.'s African-American Lives 2