1000 on the 1st

10:01a.  Think it may have rained a little last night.  Doesn’t plan on sticking around, I can tell.  With editing the novel, I’m onto page three.  Where it stops, or transitions rather, from page 3 to 4, I may write a new page, something for character.  About all I can say at this point.  Not because I want to be secretive, I just have no idea where the story’s going.  But I’m not going to let that stop me, or intimidate or discourage me as I have in the past.  Was just thinking upstairs of the past 10 years.  The whole “Where was I?” and “Where has the time gone?” ponderings.  [Hate that word, “ponder.”]  In 2002, Feb. 1st, I was an instructional assistant in the Roseland District, here in Santa Rosa.  Sheppard Elementary School.  I left that job for the insurance sales post in San Leandro, which purposed the apartment in San Ramon.  Had some incredible writing sessions in that apartment.  Many for graduate school.  And even more for me.

Don’t know what made me fall feet-first into such a rich flashback.  But, if it matters to a reader, that’s where my visions have been scampering in this 1st’s early hours.  Already almost through the mocha.  Pouring at my sister’s winery this Saturday, I think.  First time I’ve worked there in months.  Know there’ll be new faces, new procedures, club members.  Oh, and new wines, of course, most excitingly.  Wonder what they’ll have behind that beautiful counter.  Sure there’ll be Zins, but I’m on the hunt for the varietals of my label, whoso cellars–Sauv Blanc (which they won’t have out till later this year), Syrahs, Cabs.  Then, Sunday, back to my brother Kazzy’s Room.  For not drinking any wine right now [which, by the way, I maintained last night by not having a single tear from a fermented grape], I’m definitely around it consistently, being in my thoughts and dreams, VISIONS, even more abundantly.  For my writing.

Should probably jump over to the novel, now.  Like I said, I have no idea where it’s going.  But, isn’t that wine, the spontaneity of it all?  Whirling whimsicality, Aesthetics?  Wine “industry” drones will shine this entertainment on as useless, not contributing to the sale.  Fine with me.  It’s meant for the Literary World, people thinking for themselves, only concerned with Life, delighting in its brevity.  Putting too much thought into that polarization, worlds of Wine & Lit.  And that contributes to the chasming problem.  So I apologize.  I want unionization, collectivity between plains.

And again, find mySelf thinking of Paris.  That city.  Need to make a list of dates, deadlines for Self.  For example:  4/1/2012 – Novel finished, ready for submission, readings.  Again, just an example.  But that’s how the dates’ll appear.  I’ll keep the envelope [yes, I’ll list them vertically on an envelope’s shell] in my current Comp Book.  But, wait…  I’m using a legal pad right now.  Maybe I should keep it in a document here in the monster, store it on my desktop so I don’t lose it, or forget…  Okay, done.  Just did so.  The documents title reads, “DEADLINES!!!!!!!!” Yes, with 8 exclamations.  I’m that serious about seeking what I want for the writing.  That, and 8 has always been my fortunate number.  Dating back to an exercise in my 1st grade class when Mrs, Marshall held a piece of paper over a number and asked the class, “What number between 1 & 10 do you think is under this paper?” I raised my hand, she called, I said “8!!!” She was shocked to hear my answer, as if I could see though that granulated gray sheet.

Close to 1000 words already.  Well, fairly near, I guess.  Have quite a bit to do today.  “Responsibilities.” Hate being responsible, prompt, punctual.  Gets in the way of writing.  Everything targets my pages, this new novel.  Not going to fluster.  Breathing, sipping the mocha’s last.  I’m free now.  Need to focus on that, and where I was sitting just a week rearview’d.  Going to add another date to “DEADLINES!!!!!!!!”.  Not going to share it, as it’s only for the author’s eyes.  But, everyone should do this, as it gives you a target; TARGETS, a plan.  For you.  That’s Autonomy.

3:54p.  Been a bit lazy today.  And I just noticed.  So I, frazzled and fearful of the longterm impact, or potential therein, flew to this keyboard.  Just added a couple more items to ‘DEADLINES’.  Wanted a straight coffee, but thought a Diet Coke would better pair with this page, day.  Who knows if I’ll be right.  Want to be around books.  Should I go to the bookstore?  For what?  Why am I asking mySelf that?  That’s like someone asking me, “What are you writing?” I’m writing, why do I have to confess and outline the stream’s end?  I’m going to the bookstore, to be around books.  No research premeditated, no surfaced purchase foreseen.

Thinking of the meeting Nick and I had the night before Thanksgiving, how he said “Don’t worry about money right now, just add content.” He was counseling on 1StopWineBlogShop (which I didn’t wind up killing, by the way; added a wine review last night).  But, what he offered could certainly apply, and consequently benefit, my Creative efforts.  The novel, the spoken word, shorter works.

Cold up here, maybe I should have got a coffee.  Saw some Pinots at the store a few hours earlier I was tempted to buy, taste.  But, I’m keeping to this cleansing of Self.  Honestly, wine’s absence has enlivened me unfamiliarly.  More energy for this page, no straying of attention.  Better for the art.  Watching an interview with a writer on Barnes & Noble’s Youtube channel.  Distracting.  Should put on some music.  Fiending for those books, just roaming the rows.  Clocking out, just as I did on those Lit Lunches.  Missing those.  But not what I’d return to.  At all.

Carolyn See in my head, how I taught her book, or tried, while teaching.  1000 words a day, she stressed.  And, in that personal email she sent to me, Dec ’09, she said “…anyone can do it [get out 1000 words], even a tortured soul.” Why I summon her words, book, to remind my Self that there’s never an excuse not to write.  Ever.  IF you don’t produce 1k/day, that’s understandable, I think.  But to call yourSelf a writer, and not write…  Inexcusable.

2/1/12, Wednesday