I woke this morning at 4:00am to the voices of war vets in my ear. It’s an occupational hazard, particularly when you work up until bedtime. Ask any journalist and he will tell you, the worst part of the writing process is transcribing hours and hours of recorded interviews – typing word for word the conversations you had with sources. Many see the process as mundane and tedious at best, and I’m no exception. There’s nothing worse than knowing you’ve got a deadline, and ten hours of redundant busywork stands between you and the fun writing part.

But I have to admit, something sort of magical starts to happen with transcription. Inevitably, sometimes during the process but often a few hours afterward, the story starts to write itself. Much like watching a movie for a second time, or re-reading a book, you begin to see and hear things differently. After hours spent carefully listening to, rewinding and playing back as needed, each measured pause and hum whispered into your headphones, you begin to feel like you know a guy. Your brain starts to think the way he might think, your inner voice starts speaking the way he might speak. You start to hear different subtleties in his voice, or you catch meanings you didn’t infer the first time through. You start to feel like you’ve finally earned the authority to speak for him, to tell his story. It’s at that point, and only that point, that the story starts flowing from your fingertips. You almost can’t hold it in.

Problem is, if it’s the middle of the night and the voices have been percolating in the mysterious recesses of your brain for several hours, those guys will wake you up. Especially if they’re military types (she says, winking.)

Because I was awake, I heard Emma crying downstairs at 4:15am. My two-year-old champion rock-solid sleeper never cries in the night, so I knew we were in for it. Full body rash, barking cough, fever, stomach pain… The symptoms actually started last night, and our saint of a neighbor (who also happens to be a physician’s assistant) made a house call to examine her; She guesses it’s this powerful new strain of Strep that’s going around her clinic.

Dave took her to urgent care first thing this morning, so I could sit here and wrestle with the voices. Give these guys their due. Shut them up. All I really want to do is cuddle with her, though, the privilege of which I’ll have in about thirty minutes anyway. Better get typing.

Should be an interesting day.

****
addendum, 9:16am.

It’s not strep, it’s a virus. Liquids and cuddling, doctor’s orders.

The patient