Tired from run. Honestly, not much to write about. Well, successful Literary Lunch, with the book project. Wrote some additional prose for the first page. Not printing any new pages tonight, as I’m backed up enough as it is. Thinking my first submittable sample will be in the neighborhood of 35-40 pages. Not sure. Either way, I’ve surprised my Self a little with how my attention’s stuck to this effort. Noticing, though, that I’ve neglected 1StopWineBlogShop a little. Need to write something for it, soon. Not sure what. Maybe a discussion piece. Somewhat of a struggle for my mind to get there. 1, because I’m poignantly consumed by this novel. And, 2, I’m not drinking a lot right now. Wine or beer. That’s beneficially startling my Self as well. Didn’t bring the laptop today, but tomorrow I will, for 1Stop.
Was watching an interview with one of my favorite spoken word artists, when I was at the Starbucks on 12 & Mission. He spoke about how much he loves the writing, the act of pen to paper. Nowhere did he mention typing, anything electronic. Was refreshing, honestly. His words, rime scheme, indicative of thought, deliberation, honest artistry. And in the air of forthrightness, I can’t think of a single event to convey to you. No wine tasting, no travel (yet). Just writing. Immense loads of writing. I continue to startle mySelf with how much I write. But, that’s a little selfish, with no capital “s”.
Kelly, probably sipping wine, painting. Or not. She can do whatever she wants. She, a true artist, doesn’t mind the clock much. What did it feel like to tell her supervisor that she’s leaving to live by her brush strokes? Can only write what I think she said. Feel like watching that documentary again. Maybe it’ll give me a prompt for the lines I write before sleep. That’s quickly becoming my favorite time for page. Only thing following, rest. No work tasks, no bills. Just reflection and, like the vines out there, dormancy.