11:43am. Jack, asleep, hopefully, upstairs. Leaving blog, after I pay this bill over phone, which seems to take forever. So frustrating, these automated systems. Off to work on book for a bit. Not sure I’ll get to 1k before he wakes, but I won’t be too pessimistic 2soon.
12:17pm. At 710 words, for today’s flash piece.
1:53pm. Following a nap, small lunch for mySelf, I’m feeling much better. The little one, just beginning to wake. Can hear him talking, singing upstairs. I’ll send Self for him in a bit. Thinking of how to end today’s piece. At 850 words, presently. Won’t let mySelf step a word over 999. I’ll reconnect with it later tonight.
At a loss for what to do with day’s remainder. Tomorrow morning, early start. Have to meet a couple students in Petaluma, earlier than usual, for journal checks. Hoping to find that they’ve been writing, torrentially.
2:15pm. And, back where the day began. On first floor, and on floor, seated, with a newly-charged little Artist. Air Conditioning in motion. Why, I wonder. Is it that hot outside? Haven’t stepped beyond that front door all day.
Journal checks tomorrow. Need to cook some type of rubric tonight. And no wine this evening, please note. I need whatever style bug this is away from my functioning. Feeling much better than I did this A.M., certainly. But nonetheless, I’m a bit stretched with my diminished energy. Now, for that next cup of French Roast. My fiction piece for the day, needing its finishing. Not sure how many cups I’ve today had. IS this number 5? Think so. This cup, for reason the best palate over the others.
Tomorrow’s classes, divided into two parts. Or perhaps 3. 1) Peer review; 2) revisit/debrief; 3) poetry and narrative ahead– telling story for a reason. Your story.
Only able to get out a sentence at a time, as Kerouac moves faster than I expected him to, following his lunch. He wasn’t much interested in the string cheese, bread pieces, pineapple I prepared for him. He was anxious, impatient, fidgety, wanting to run around. Urge’s evidence, he kept pushing against the table portion of his chair, intending it just slide out, so he could just leap onto the kitchen floor, begin his newest dash.
5:55pm. Sneezes attacking. Incredibly annoying. Back from a couple errands, and yes.. it’s rather warm outside. Only thing planned for this evening: finish that standalone. That’s quite it. I may look for some older pieces to rack into this first chap, then begin a new piece. OR finish another new s-alone.
This day, recovery, precisely what the writer needed. And my character, evolving in its unravelled rattle. Florescently forward, I’d say.
Now, to the
book. My story.
This fiction. All
must be fiction–
If I’m to be even
11:02pm. Finished the standalone. Pleased, yes. Have 12 pages of solid, salable content in first chapbook. Now, have a cough. One annoying, relentless, admirably persistent in its pestering. Think it may have left, for a couple minutes anyway. Stories on mind.. vignettes. Not sure why I haven’t used them, or thought in their paces before.