There are two kinds of people awake at three in the morning.
The first group is peacefully asleep, dreaming about beaches, vacations, and fluffy clouds.
The second group is writers.
Specifically… writers whose brains decide that 3:07 a.m. is the perfect time to launch a full creative production meeting.
I wish I were exaggerating.
Picture this: the house is quiet. The world is asleep. Even the moon seems to be minding its own business. I’m lying in bed trying very hard to drift off into dreamland.
Instead, my brain leans over the metaphorical desk, slams a stack of imaginary papers down, and says:
“Okay team, hear me out. What if… magical kingdoms… ancient prophecy… morally complicated hero… and it’s a trilogy.”
Excuse me?
A trilogy?
It is three in the morning. I cannot remember where I put my glasses yesterday, but apparently I am now outlining an entire fantasy saga.
And not just a vague idea either. Oh no. My brain goes all in.
There’s
world-building.
There’s a map.
There are character arcs.
There’s probably a talking animal.
(Which, honestly, is not surprising. If you know my work, magical animals tend to wander into the story whether invited or not. Sometimes I suspect they’re unionized.)
Somewhere around 3:18 a.m., things escalate.
The first book suddenly has a plot twist. The second book introduces a mysterious villain with questionable motives and great hair. The third book wraps up the entire saga in a way that will make readers cry, laugh, and immediately demand a spin-off series.
All of this happens while I am lying there staring at the ceiling like a raccoon that accidentally drank espresso.
Now, at this point a reasonable person might say:
“Sabine, write it down.”
This is excellent advice.
Unfortunately, the reasonable part of my brain is still asleep.
Instead, I lie there convincing myself I will definitely remember everything in the morning.
The
intricate political alliances.
The magical artifact.
The shocking betrayal in chapter twenty-seven.
Yes. Absolutely. Of course I’ll remember.
Morning arrives.
The alarm clock rings.
I sit up.
And my brain offers the following helpful summary of last night’s brilliant idea:
“Something… magical… happened.”
Fantastic.
Somewhere in the fog of half-remembered brilliance, I know there was an entire series in there. A good one, too. The kind that could stretch across multiple books and keep readers turning pages long past bedtime.
Which, if we’re being honest, is a little poetic.
After all, stories are the reason many of us stay awake late in the first place. We read “just one more chapter,” and suddenly it’s midnight. Or one. Or three.
Apparently my brain has decided to return the favor.
The funny thing is that these midnight story sessions are also a reminder of something wonderful: imagination doesn’t really operate on a schedule. Inspiration doesn’t politely wait for office hours. It shows up when it feels like it—sometimes on a quiet walk, sometimes during a cup of coffee, and sometimes when you are absolutely, definitely trying to sleep.
As frustrating as insomnia can be, there is also something strangely magical about those quiet nighttime moments when stories appear out of nowhere.
The
world is silent.
Your mind starts wandering.
And suddenly entire worlds begin to unfold.
Characters start talking. Adventures begin. Mysteries appear.
A writer’s brain never really turns off.
It simply waits for the perfect dramatic moment.
Which, apparently, is three in the morning.
So if you ever find yourself awake in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling while your imagination spins up entire universes…
Just know you’re not alone.
Somewhere out there, another writer is also lying awake, plotting a story they may or may not remember in the morning.
And if you happen to hear the faint sound of tiny footsteps beside the bed, that might just be my Papillon, Blueberry, supervising the creative process.
Because in her professional opinion, if I’m awake at three in the morning anyway, I might as well use the time productively.
Preferably by writing a book that includes a heroic, magical, extremely intelligent dog.
Honestly, she has a point.

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