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Early One Morning takes time and, I mean, all things like that I felt were very important.
The cool thing about writing is that there is really never a typical day. Sometimes I get a rhythm going and head off to work every morning and come home at night. Sometimes I’ll write for two days straight and then be utterly blank for the next two.
The next morning we saw nothing of the enemy, though we were still lying to.
In a still hot morning, the tide went out and didn’t come back in. This was not a spectacular event. The sea did not roll up like a scroll, like the sky in Revelations. It quietly withdrew.
My aunt had a season ticket for the Friday afternoon concerts, and I would go down for lessons. My lessons were Saturday morning.
In a few days an officer came to our camp, under a flag of truce, and informed Hamilton, then a captain of artillery, but afterwards the aid of General Washington, that Captain Hale had been arrested within the British lines condemned as a spy, and executed that morning.
It doesn’t much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
Remember that God under the Law ordained a Lamb to be offered up to Him every Morning and Evening.
So far as I know, anything worth hearing is not usually uttered at seven o’clock in the morning and if it is, it will generally be repeated at a more reasonable hour for a larger and more wakeful audience.
That’s what keeps me up at three in the morning: Who’s looking at reviews of Cabin Boy right now?