10:15pm.  A 10.55 miles run.  Deep into Howarth Park, back.  On sprint back, I increased speed, as the writer’s mind sculpted plot’s lines for his own murder.  Jogging, or running, no one around, and with me exhausted, I’m the perfect writable target.  Sipping the ’11 Estate Cab, which at first I dismissed.  But now, much more charisma about its sensory storm.  Posted to both blogs.. my students, carrying my momentum.  Surprised how energetic I am, sitting here on this couch, after such a run, sipping Cabernet.. Making Self to bed go around 11:30.  Which gives me a good time block.  Or more like a mini-plot.

My student responses to these blog posts.. motivating me in ways I never estimated.  Almost unsure of how to react.  Have contain composure, sustain it.

And pour the writer more wine.

This last glass, night’s cap.  This Cab’s changed.  More grip, gravity, grace about it’s speech.  Not letting Self touch book tonight.  Why?  Want to write freely, here on these feeble “blogs.” My character, Kelly, experiencing a certain ‘rebirth’, much I hate that term.  So what else can I say?  […]  Her literary voraciousness has been re-emphasized.  By me, of course.  I’m her biggest abetter.

Short of night’s goal, with words.  Why do I always focus on that, so much.  Who taught me this?  This encompasses my pen strides.  Her story.  She walks, narrating to herSelf.  She’s not maniacal like me, feeling the need to write EVERYTHING down.  She carries the impact with her, delivers to canvas at her willing.  Not sure what to say about her.. other than she’s out there, and here.  On page.  For me, the readers, for herSelf.  Right now, 10:33pm.. I’m assured she’s sipping.  To quiet.  TV off, unlike her author.  Staring at her blank sheet.  She engages one motion at a time.  Never back-to-back colors.  Each stroke, rivaling shades.  She loves the concept of contrast, exposing beauty in difference.

Taking another sip of the obnoxious glass I poured Self, I’m re-reading what one of my stronger students just posted.  Feel like it’s something Kelly would say.  I’m consumed in her, my character.

 

Won’t disguise my struggle in this sitting.  My mental, combatting both my 10.5 mile dash, well as the ’11 Cab which is proving to be more poised than I originally mapped.  I’m easily distracted by the muted Weather Channel, by thoughts of the coming study of Poe for my 1A students.  A new chapter, one directional, beginning next week, with the submission of this 1st paper [both sections].  Am I excited or terrified?

Wrote that after minutes of mind wandering.  Curse my run, this bloody wine.  This is precisely why I’ve detracted on oenological connection.  And why I’ve become so vocal on this “industry.”

And back again from distraction.  Checking email.  At least I return, am still writing.  Can’t wait for coffee in A.M.  This morning, thought about coming back home, writing, taking a nap.  But I surpassed.  AND, I didn’t even get a lunch today, after VIP tour, then ResRoom.  But I triumphed.  And I

always

will.

 

New stories written.  Now.

Fiction.

But not.

(9/13/13)