Writing – it is like morning practice. 5 am, standing on the edge of the pool, the air is cold and chill, but the water is colder. Your arms are tight around your chest, crossed to keep in what heat your body is producing and you dare not open up to dive into the frigid waters. But the coach is screaming, questioning your parentage and your desire to live beyond the next five minutes and you dive in. You come up stroking hard, pop out of the water like a cork, then settle back in to rhythmic strokes down the pool, flip, come back, look at the board again for the warm-up, then continue on.
I never liked morning practice.