Track 11 — NewRoute

On mind: how I wish I had more time to write.  SO, I’ll do what Martin Eden did.  Stop consumption of alcohol, which for me is merely beer and wine, and shorten sleep periods.  Alarm is set for 6:30am.  May have to feed my mini-character around that time,  but if he continues the pattern of late, I won’t till after 7.  And if I wake before alarm’s call, I’ll rise, walk right over to the desk, start typing.  Has to be project-specific.  The pages have to carry purpose, a destination.

Raising budget to $300 for chapbook1, publishing ventures.  Thought about an office of my own all day today.  Might be why I didn’t sell a single bottle.  Anyway, the wind’s wolverine-like charges through the trees to the right of my window, and at the glass itself, told me I need to do more to be heard as an Artist.  That’s what Kelly did–That’s why I write about her.  All the time.  Had a couple sips of a Sauv Blanc when I landed here in the condo castle, but I wasn’t touched by its song.  Too light, grassy, metallic for me.  Dumped it into a surprised disposal, went to IPA.  Only had one, as I had the Martin Eden notion while eating.  Need to read that book again.  And maybe once more after that.

To work, and back to base, listened to various Shakur works, studying his tonality, rhyme scheme, varying themes.  I’ll never be at his level, ever, and don’t want to be.  It’s his.  But, I do want to have a distinct voice, Identity as he did.  And, even more insistently, mimic his work habits.  3 pieces a day, ideally.  Like Updike with 3 pages, I guess.  But, with Shakur’s plan, I’ll have 3 standalone Literary/musical works before bed.  Music…  Just turned on some Wine Bar beats, my molded Pandora station.  Just loud enough for my ears, single volume notch.  Quiet enough as to not wake little Kerouac.  Feel like my son may pursue some Art, perhaps painting, drawing, with this early infatuation colors, shades.  Will be interesting to see where his passions land.

Not ready to clock out.  But I really should.  Interesting that writing is the only job at which I would have trouble not staying late.  But that’s a silly sentence, as there’d be no time with my Art.  I start when I want, end when I feel appropriate.  Not boxes.  Speaking of the box, I want to get started on my piece centered on its inner-workings, characters.  Revealing all the details, dialogue I trapped in those cubeNOTES.  The idea shook me like yesterday’s earthquake [Was it yesterday?] downstairs, when I thought of what my last cubeNOTE was.  I haven’t forgotten.  That piece WILL be written.  And ALL will be exposed.  Maybe chapbook2’s anchoring piece, or all of it, could be that piece I’ve been dying to write.  Speaking of chapbooks, “cb1,” as I refer to it on my calendar, is due in 9 days.  More than enough time.  Tomorrow morning, that’ll be my only focus.  No ridiculous blogging, wine blogging.  Only pages.  Literature.  Not-so-fictitious fiction.

These lounge-y beats, their echoing percussions and effects, making me quite sleepy.  Don’t think I’m going to pen-to-paper tonight.  Going to be faithful to my alarm’s time.  So, I’m clocking out.  Determined to make Mr. Eden, and little Mr. Jack, rather cheered in my discipline’s new turn.  May be able to fit in a quick poem, or scribble.  Somewhere…

No.  Punching clock.  Leaving keys.  Bon nuit.

3/6/12, Tuesday