Sleepless Nights, Passing Seasons, and Stories in Between

You ever wake up in the middle of the night, stare at the ceiling, and realize sleep has quietly abandoned you?

You try to get it back. You roll over, adjust the pillow, close your eyes again. Eventually, you drift off and it feels like you’re finally getting that deep, perfect sleep… and then your alarm goes off.

I would rank this as one of the most unpleasant non-lethal problems a person can have.

There is a strange upside, though. Lack of sleep has a way of sharpening something a little darker, a little more creative inside of me. Ideas come easier. Emotions feel closer to the surface. Yet, at the same time, it becomes harder to actually sit down and write. The mind runs while the body lags behind.

On People Who Pass Through

Lately I’ve been thinking about how people move through our lives.

Growing up, I think I absorbed this idea from movies and TV that friendships are supposed to last forever. The kind where you grow up together and stay close no matter what. Harry, Ron, and Hermione. That kind of thing.

But real life doesn’t always work like that.

Sometimes people come into your life for a season, and while they’re there, the time you spend with them feels meaningful, even unforgettable. And then, slowly, things shift. Life gets busy. The rhythm changes until those moments become memories instead of routines.

For a long time, I think I resisted that. I wanted the kind of friendships that bloom all year round.

But lately, I’ve come to appreciate something different.

Out here in California, there are seasons where golden poppies start to bloom. You don’t always see them. They don’t last forever. But when they appear, there’s something about them that feels… special. Maybe it’s because you know they won’t always be there.

I think people can be like that.

Not every connection is meant to last forever in the same form. Some are meant to pass through, to exist fully in a moment, and then fade into something quieter. That doesn’t make them any less meaningful.

If anything, it makes them more so.

It means we can appreciate the time we had without needing to hold onto it too tightly.

And maybe friendships don’t really end. Maybe they just… pause.

Like Gandalf heading off on another journey while I return to my Hobbit hole. And who knows? Maybe somewhere down the road, paths cross again for another adventure.

Writing Between the Moments

I’ve been carrying some of these thoughts into my current project, The Last of Her Kind.

I’m about 70,000 words in now, aiming for somewhere around 100,000. It’s funny how different this story feels compared to what I’ve written before. Instead of asking how someone gets away with murder, I find myself wondering whether two characters might feel a spark of love while standing in front of a waffle maker.

It’s a different kind of tension, but in some ways, just as powerful.

A lot of that shift comes from the collaboration. My natural tone leans a bit darker, a bit more introspective. My co-author, Emily, brings warmth and humor that balances it out in a way that makes something better when combined. Together, it feels like coffee and sugar. Distinct on their own, but better when combined.

Right Now

I’m writing this from a coffee shop with a few hours carved out to keep going.

There’s something fitting about that. Stories being built in small pockets of time. Conversations happening around me. People passing through, just like everything else.

Moments that don’t last forever, but still matter while they’re here.

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