Why Not More?

I love walking at night. I'm so glad I live somewhere where I can just tumble out of the house at any time of night and walk around for as long as I want. Sometimes I walk up into the hills and worry about the mountain lions, but I figure as long as I'm not getting off a school bus, I'm probably okay (thanks, Signal/Noise, for that lion-happy-meal factoid). Plus it gets so nice and misty, and I find mist to be good meteorology for thinking. There was this crazy guy who was always trying to get the Atlantic to publish his essay about being a person who likes to walk, and I feel like him whenever I think about how much I enjoy my late night constitutionals. He sent Mike Curtis the ultimate insult: a recycled death threat, a photocopy of one he'd actually addressed and sent to Roger Angell. My future!

Anyway, I always want to write in the morning, and fret that I won't be a real writer unless I get up early and do a few good hours, coffee cup in hand, but on my walk I decided that I'm just a night-time writer. I like to write at night and revise in the afternoon, which may have been why Squaw was so perfect. After I thought that, I went home and wrote something I hope is salvagable. But the point of this thought is that HenHen and I had such success writing in a bar at night that I think we should continue that tradition when everyone's back in Irvine. After all, Steelhead captures that fakey, overpriced vibe that was so productive for us almost perfectly.