The hour that comes up again and again is 2 a.m., and it's basically right. For most of her working life, Butler wrote in the dark before dawn, long before she had to leave for a job that paid the rent.

The Direct Answer
Before dawn, often rising somewhere between 2 and 4 a.m.
She fit her writing in ahead of a string of menial day jobs, a habit she describes in her essay Furor Scribendi and in interviews.

Before the Day Job

For most of her twenties and thirties, Butler wasn't a full-time novelist. She inspected potato chips, washed dishes, worked as a telemarketer, and clocked hours in warehouses, and she wrote around every one of those shifts. The way she made it work was timing. She got up while the rest of Los Angeles was still asleep, sometimes as early as 2 a.m., and put pages down before she had to be anywhere. Evenings were no good to her. After a day of work she felt too tired and too crowded with other people's voices to write anything worth keeping.

Write every day. Write whether you feel like writing or not. Choose a time of day.

Octavia Butler, Furor Scribendi

Why the Small Hours

The early start came down to arithmetic. If the writing didn't happen first, the day would eat it. Butler treated those pre-dawn hours the way she treated a paying shift, showing up on schedule and staying until she'd done her share, whether the words came easily or not. She admitted 2 a.m. was almost too early and that she leaned toward being over-ambitious, though she'd rather bank the pages up front than gamble on having energy left at night. The rule underneath it was plain: protect the writing before the world gets a claim on your time.

For a fuller picture of how she built the rest of her day around that early block, see the full Octavia Butler writing routine.

What You Can Steal