The Maniac’s Hours-Looking for Like Minded People

I awaken everyday at 1:30 am to enjoy the Maniac’s Hours until dawn strikes at 6:00am.  It is the most brilliant and creative part of my entire day. I get up, grab a leash for my pug, Julia Bleu, and off to the store we scurry to make my perfect cup of coffee.  We rush right home, and I turn on the light in my study where my desk and electronics are all waiting for me to take my place. I toss Julia Bleu upon my lap, and grab my bottle of Adderall.  With coffee I take my prescribed pill, and at last the “golden elixir.”

There is nothing like the maniac’s hours, infused with my golden elixir.  The extraordinary writing feats, are something of a living legend. My thoughts are clear, my mind is thinking fast, I can barely keep up with the creative thoughts churning from my mind. Besides the clicking of the keyboard, it is completely silent.  The solitude I crave, is finally all mine and nobody else’s.  This time of quiet is all my own, I try not to get lost in the quiet, but my ‘golden elixir” keeps me steroidal focused. It is the ultimate experience of maximum cognitive ability coupled with the utter shear focus that propels me into the cosmic arrays; completing writing feats like no other.

The feeling inside is completely amped up with my brain in overdrive. There is nothing that compares to this moment, I rest assured I am the only one, creating porn prose I never thought possible. I am a PhD student, so usually I am working on something related to a course.  I only write original prose for courses during these inane hours.  I do not joke, I will not write during any other time of the day. Sure I will edit and revise, but many a maniac’s hours, I have literally churned out 10 page papers, which required little revising; it is beyond my scope of comprehension to further explain.

Sometimes with Julia Bleu laying upon my lap, I will work on a personal piece like right now I am writing “The Cake Is Now,” my journey to anorexia and now my way back. I feel rightly so, like an utter machine I just crank out my work, totally blissed out with beautiful silence; a dream come true for this poet’s soul.

I do nothing else but write during this  most precious time of my day. I will not waste these hours laced with my “golden elixir” on any of my life’s completely mundane.  I have been questioned and truly prodded to give up my secret recipe for the work I produce within these hours. No way, it is all so mine, I would never share my secrets or this crazy time, with anybody but my pug, Julia Bleu.

So I often wonder what it is about this solitude, the others before me as well as in front of me never catch on.  My study is my own special space.  Outfitted with all the latest tech, decorated with everything about me, I couldn’t have created such a niche, if it wasn’t for the maniac’s hours.

Fully equipped with a large smart flat screen, and every other gadget, I truly feel blessed from the Gods above for my space, the hours, and my ability to create the nearly impossible.  It is not just luck but the maniac’s hours, that keep my GPA an incredible 4.0.  Not just one semester or even a few, ALL of them I am able to live up to my goal; nothing less then perfection.

I have also done so really stupid stuff, like create a new word or two, as well as turn a two page observation assignment into eight pages of brilliant description.  The rules of the maniac’s hours are simple and clear and non-negotiable; solitude, my golden elixir, as well as my little Julia Bleu.  Given a prompt, any kind of prompt, I create what I can not do at any other time during the day.  It completely is mind-blowing to myself….I know the work I write so inspired compared to writing at a different time, where non of my stars are all aligned.

I highly suggest, that you create a place all your own to write, and preface is it with complete solitude, and if you are darning go get a coffee.  Your work will amaze both you and your professors alike. You will begin every class, fully prepared with way lots more, and never a worry to fathom.

I singularly believe, the keys to improving your own writing skills, is to start with some space and the magical solitude. No my phone isn’t on, social networking is out of the question.  If you are the least bit serious, shut everything down and everyone else out, and come join me for the magnificent maniac’s hours.



I Missed My Maniac’s Hours, My Day is Not Right

This morning out of shear exhaustion I slept.  I slept right through the maniac’s hours.  Not like me, but life has been hard and I have the extra worry of my family returning home today.  I feel so out of sorts, my routine ruined.  Time is escaping me as much as I fight it.  I must take ‘my time’ to do what I do, whether in the still of the night or the shining sun of daylight.

I am not sure I can fully explain, what the maniac’s hours and ensuing routine represent to me.  I need them, I crave them, without that time I don’t breath.  I know it will take tomorrow to get things back on course. For it’s not just about the cof2 am.jpgfee, and time, and the vibrant bright life of creativity that fills my head and my soul. I tried oh I tried to replicate it, at various other times with utter abysmal failure.  Recently, I have found something new. Come four pm in the late afternoon, if I go get my coffee and get a tich lucky, I am able to write again with full force and  flurry.  This is an all new experience, so maybe today is not lost.  I will bide my time and wait for afternoon.  I will spend the day spinning thoughts in my head, hoping to get something onto the page.  I am not letting me guard down about 4 pm. It has happened a few times so I surely can’t depend.

Today I must use my unbridled voice. It will have to wait for later, if I even have a chance.  I need to write specifically about the maniac’s hours, I am in love, in lust, I crave both the time and the coinciding feelings oh so bad.  Its the walk to the store in the quiet of the morn, its the tincture of coffee I so carefully make.  It is that hallowed walk back home, as I walk in drenched anticipation for what is right in front of me.  Getting in the house, I unleash Julia Bleu.  She knows the routine and bounds into the study.  I hang up my coat and put my wallet away; the desk the computer are pulling me in.  I sit down at last, take a sip of my coffee, Julia Bleu jumps up on my lap and then it begins: for a few hours I AM A WRITER.  Yes, terrible, a pure moron at prose.  However, during the illusion of the hours, I am granted a ticket to dream and so I do.  I read people’s blogs, and I begin to start mine.  Nothing, no nothing feels better than that.  I write, I read some more, perhaps I scratch what I was writing.  No matter what I AM A WRITER at this point.

As the daybreak arrives, I have mixed emotions.  Happy for the day ahead, but sad to see my maniac’s hours turn into to dawn.  I am done, it is finished, the coffee no more.  I try to finish my blog I will post.  I struggle to complete it, as it isn’t the same.  However now I might just have found another special hour.  It is lacking a name to give it real life.  What to call it escapes me right now.  I will think about it as I meander through my day.  Hopefully to return at 4 pm, with coffee and pug.  I will take my seat by the window to the world, and call upon the forces making this possible for me.

I leave you now, unfulfilled yet hopeful. If I craft a name for those hours I will certainly be happy.  Without a name they haven’t much life, without any life they are not yet real to me.  I will brainstorm, sit quiet, whatever it takes.  I am planning my day at this epic chance of recovery.  See you soon, later on with much to share.  My only wish is a name to importantly  bear……..