When the Night Thinks I’m Worthy

~ MMC 2.0

A love letter to late-night storytelling and slightly irresponsible choices

“You’re doing it again.”

My wife stood at the door, arms folded like a part-time warden and full-time realist.

“It’s 2 AM.”

I looked up from my laptop and gave her a sheepish grin—the kind that used to work on teachers, and these days works mostly because my greying hair makes people think I’m too old and fragile to say no to.

“I’m writing,” I said, as if that made it any better.

It didn’t.
She sighed, walked off, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “You’ll be the world’s first posthumously famous blogger.”

To be fair, she’s not wrong to worry.
Three years ago, I had a very real brush with the exit door.
Not in a poetic, Dickensian sense. In a “we almost lost him on the surgeon’s table” kind of way.

So I often get issued nightly warnings like: “If you die again, don’t expect us to come rushing.”

So yes, there’s concern when I stay up late.
But also—this late-night writing business?

Here’s the thing they don’t fully get.

When I write at night, I’m not burning myself out. I’m lighting something up.

Something old.
Something half-asleep.
Something quietly magical.

It’s not rebellion.
It’s ritual.

I’ve tried writing in the mornings.
With the birds chirping, the sun streaming in, and the world generally smug about productivity.

But my words? They’re night owls.
They don’t like sunlight. They emerge only when the fridge hums louder than the world, and the last WhatsApp message of the day has been sent.

Morning me is good for editing.
He’s neat. Sensible. Knows where the commas go.
But he’s also kind of boring.

It’s night-time me—the slightly sleepy, mildly unravelled version—that somehow manages to find the exact sentence that makes strangers say, “That’s exactly what I felt… I just never had the words.”

Because it’s at night, when everything slows down, that the memories begin to rise.

Not the loud, dramatic ones.
The quieter kind.
The ones that arrive with a sigh, sit on the edge of the desk, and whisper, “Remember this?”

That’s when the emotions slip in too.
That’s when I find the right detail. The right rhythm. The right sentence that makes a story breathe.

Somehow, when I’m a little tired—just past sharpness and a little before sleep—the feelings come out clearer.
The stories become truer.
And what I’m trying to say finally starts to sound like something you might have once felt too.

I once heard a famous writer say,
“Write with a glass of wine. Edit with a cup of coffee.”

He said it with the confidence of someone who owns a vintage typewriter and thinks laptops are a passing phase.

But I think he was onto something.

You don’t write from peak performance.
You write from the edge of it.
When your inner critic is drowsy.
When your thoughts wander into places your to-do list never visits.
When your brain is too tired to lie.

So yes, I stay up late.

No, it’s not what the doctor recommends.
Yes, I should probably listen to my wife more.
And no, I don’t expect to win a Pulitzer while running on four hours of sleep.

But I also know that the best things I’ve written have arrived at 1:43 AM—when half of me was ready to call it a night, and the other half whispered, “Just one more paragraph.”

If I seem tired in the morning, it’s because something beautiful kept me awake.
Something real.
Something that needed to be said before it faded.

Because when the world sleeps, and the noise fades,
the stories come looking for me.

So if you ever wonder why I choose storytelling over sleep…

It’s not just habit.
It’s homecoming.

And until my last story decides it’s ready to be told,
I’ll keep showing up for it—
quietly, stubbornly,
one late night at a time.

25 thoughts on “When the Night Thinks I’m Worthy”

  1. This feels less like an essay and more like a love letter to the quiet hours. I love how you flip the idea of late-night writing from being reckless into something sacred—like it’s not about losing sleep, it’s about finding truth. The line about “when your brain is too tired to lie” really stuck with me. Makes me want to stay up just a little later tonight to see what stories show up.👌🎉

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    1. I love how you caught the spirit of it… not as recklessness, but as something almost sacred. 🙏
      The quiet hours do have a way of slipping past our defenses and letting the truth show up, sentence by sentence. If tonight a story comes knocking for you, I hope it keeps you awake for all the right reasons. 🙂👍

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    2. That’s such a generous way to put it—truth showing up, sentence by sentence. I love that thought. If a story does come by tonight, I’ll welcome it the way you describe—like an old friend arriving at the perfect hour. Thanks for reminding me that sleeplessness can sometimes be a gift. 🌙✨

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  2. I’m exactly the same only the opposite! 🤣. My writing is better very early in the morning while others are sleeping. Sitting up in a room lit by a blue light before the break of dawn brings forth MY romance with the pen.

    Awesome writing. Thank you

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    1. Yes, early mornings are wonderful but ever since I’m getting older and everyone’s a bit worried about my “unhealthy work habits”, early mornings are for my walks. And that also serves me with fodder for thoughts and new stories. 🙂👍

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  3. Pingback: When the Night Thinks I’m Worthy | notewords

  4. In the modern world 🌎, our busy lifestyles make it more about when we can get the time to write than about making the time to do it. I’m glad you were given a second chance at life, but our spouses or mothers ask us to go to bed, sit down when eating, etc., because they care. They are a gift 🎁. I am saying it as a reminder to myself as well 😊.

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    1. So true! Those gentle reminders from the people who love us are really small acts of care disguised as everyday nudges. 😊 I often see them as interruptions, but they’re actually gifts of presence, pulling us back from our endless busyness. Thank you for this reminder—I needed it too. 🙏
      So glad to see this message. 👍🙂🙏

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Glad you enjoyed it! 😄 The best part is, all these supportive comments are slowly convincing my family that my night-owl ways might actually be… acceptable.
      Cheers! 🙏

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    1. Thank you! 🙏 There’s something about the late-night hush that makes words flow more freely, isn’t there? Almost like the silence does half the writing for us. 😊

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  8. I can relate to your night writing preference as well. There’s a certain mood I want to create to write that doesn’t resonate as well during a busy day. That’s one of the joys of retirement.

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    1. True! I found that flexibility only after retirement too. Back in my earlier career, I barely wrote anything. Now, the nights feel like my own little canvas to play with. That’s one of the simple joys retirement brings along.🙏

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    1. Thank you so much! 🙏 There’s definitely something magical about those late hours when the world is quiet and the words come out more honest. I’m glad the post resonated with you, my friend.🙏

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Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Share your perspective in the comments below and let’s keep the conversation going!