Day, night. Morning, evening. It's all run together of late. And what time is it now? Early. Or late. Depends on how you determine the starting point.
There are times when I get this way . . . writing at such a long and furious pace that I lose track of the hours, the days. I've got so many books in-progress at present, it's difficult to remember which publisher is reviewing which book, or why. I'm writing new books alongside older ones, and in between the cracks, I'm tossing in a few new stories to boot.
I'm not tired. Yet. But that's coming. Eventually I'll hit that invisible wall, my energies will drop off, and I'll be a Rip Van Winkle for a day and actually sleep ten hours or so.
Presently I'm steeling myself for a quick trip to the gym. It's open now. And if I can work heavy, push and pull on some weight for a few minutes, burn some calories, and then get back home, I'll have time to write for a bit longer while my heart rate is high. Makes for a faster pace at the keyboard.
Heck, it's a hurried and fast-paced life. Lots of people to see today. Work to do. Words to write. How come I can't get that 25th hour into a day?