Let the 302 section go a bit early. Still can’t believe some students aren’t doing all the work. Onto 100, next. 30 minutes. Caffeine from the mocha, wearing off quicker than I’d like. Frustrated with the haircut I had today. She went too short. Now I’m just cranky, I think. A cranky writer in an adjunct’s shared office. No stimulation, no windows. Tonight, no wine. HAVE to run after work, morrow. A long one, this time. 5-6 [miles]. Reading first piece of book, of the works I’ve collected for its corner. Too tired to be analytical. Feel like I could fall asleep, right here in this not-at-all-cozy office.
Don’t want to write.. afraid you’ll be as bored as I am exhausted right now. Been up since 5:50-something, I think. Can’t remember. […] Ugh, this is painful. Clocking out.
8:29pm. Back in office for a little writing before home. While unlocking door, could hear another professor, somewhere in this hall, in one of the offices, typing rushedly, as if to finish something by midnight. That’s what the pace I could hear indicated. Need to write my classRoom pieces, starting with next session. Want to offer the students, of both sections but mainly the 100 group, 500 words on Composition; what is should do, how the students voice should be infused– well, not how, but some ways of doing so.. paragraph balance, flow of a piece, voice, audience, importance of universality, among else.
Still tired, but a bit energized after the 1-on-1’s with the 100-ers. Need to start my brainstormings, TYPING, for the Fall classes. No, going to start with pen2paper. Have to.. what I really should do. I’m going to have an inundating stress on ink, sheets, come Fall term. Can’t tell you how aggravating it is when I see students taking notes on laptops. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, especially if it’s better for the student, but I always wonder: What would they have done in Emerson’s day, or even Capote’s, when there was no laptop, no gadget immediacy?
On the other side of the door, here in office: they’re closing up the semester, it sounds like; giving closing speeches, recommending classes for Fall, thank-you’s, public acknowledgements. Now, people are being called up to stage, to make speeches. It is for Speech & Debate.. I thought so.
Wine when I get home, or no? Believe there’s some pasta waiting for me, and a little of that Merlot left. Don’t want it to go to waste, seriously. Running tomorrow night, so nothing after run. Not sure why I’m talking about this after something of importance, like my Fall schedule. Need to write abundantly before, and during the semester. One note, going into both Comp Books (yes, I’ll have 1 for each class): After writing, always read to yourSelf; give yourSelf the chance to be your own audience. Another urgency from me– look at the text both as a whole and collection of standalone compositions; find mini-moments in the bigger moment, analyzing time’s role in the Author’s work. Consider the book as both coherent composition and collection.
Also, cutting back on assignment load, slightly, Breaking semester into quarters. 4 essays, 4 responses, 4 in-class writing, 4 Literary Letters. Actually, that’s more writing. So what can I take out? I think the in-class essays, at least as major assignment. Not going to wear mySelf out before semester even starts, nor before I reach home. 8:49p, packing up, headed for domicile. Need to read first piece in book, again. Think I see some adjustments that need be made. But I don’t want to fine it too much. Ugh, now I’m talking like a winemaker. What I mean to say is, I don’t want it to present itself too edited, too polished, too organized. Has to preserve a gritty integrity.
9:39p. Home. Thinking about this first book. This first piece, putting me right back there, in that office, constantly moving desks, as if that would prove to be some brilliant plan to boost sales, which it never was. That whole “incubator” project.. what a fumbled joke. But I’m not letting my session get again spoiled by those people. Was a bit discouraged, before 100 class, thinking of book. I kept hammering Self with formality. “It has to be more acceptable to masses, more readable,” I’d say, or something like. But, that’s just what I DON’T want it to be. This book, just a collection. “About what?”
Not in much a wine mood, to be honest. May spill out that Merlot. And so what, there’s plenty at work. Allergies hitting the writer, tonight. Not sure why. I’ve stood unaffected for days. Left those pills in car, for these sneezes, sniffles. Nothing sleep can’t mend.
And the OFFblog log.. one of the best gifts I’ve ever given Self. REAL unfiltered writing, expression. What I can’t here say, I there state. And it will be released, eventually, after this first project. Record as much as I can.. that’s MY genre. Minimal editing, fining… That’s what I’d want to read, anyway.
At this kitchen table, realizing I can’t do anymore of these 1000 word posts to blog. Have to save swings for the OFFblog. New policy: 300-50 words, each “post.” How it has to be, if I’m ever to survive from my pages, entries. Imagine waking when you want, dictating your schedule, assignments, never having to worry if your bonus’ll be on the next check. That’ll be my setup next, soon. And much of the path to my office, to the Road.. carved by random verses, notes, scribbles, the unplanned/unfiltered/barely-edited entry. Not by any manuscript conformity, mainstream strive. I’m the writer that doesn’t want to rewrite that much. And why should I? I’m me, in the moment, in certain Now’s. That’s what I want people reading: the REAL, most RAW version of me I can print.
Can here her congratulating me, while she reads. If she voiced concern, or criticism, I’d heed. No rebuttals. She’s made it, living from her paintings, sketches. What she’s taught me, I could never offer students something as acroamatic. She teaches, and doesn’t even know. Should I even be writing about her? Too late. I can’t just rip up the hundreds of pages dedicated, or loosely committed, to my character– my book4HER.