Eleven

Went for nice run, shortly after landing back here, castle grounds.  This sitting, or post rather, my only usage of computer this evening.  Rest, in newJournal.  Want to fill those pages in same style as that English 5 student.  Looked at that picture a number of times, today.

Only 1 mountain tour this day.  Remainder, not much of note.  Could only think about Stanford, my lectures– actually, there you go.  Just had an idea for tomorrow’s sessions.  I will let both go early, as they’ve been intensely laboring over this first paper.  But, I want them to walk away with a couple thoughts before moving into next block.  90 days from now, we’ll be in finals’ week.  My ascension, or “master plan,” must be in full bloom by then.

7miles exactly, my run, according to google maps.  Didn’t time it, as I didn’t want Time involved.  At all.  Need another Rosé glass.  Nearly stat.  Enjoying the pizza from last night, that Alice brought home.  Thinking of the final drafts students’ll be submitting tomorrow.  Completely in admiration of what they put into their submissions.  How hard they work, they’re pride.  I’ll again reference that one student with the illustrated journal.  The ownership evident in her pages.

Lost in entertainments, fantasies.. Paris, Me.  Just writing.  On Road.  Latch Self to these lectures.  Tomorrow morning: run for 30 minutes, no more; 2) write for 30 minutes, not a clock tick, or tock, beyond; 3) dash to Petaluma.. write pen2paper in library.  Near swearing off social media, blogging, this device.  Anything that could too closely track me.  Want to continue more as chapman than a bloody blogger.  I don’t care what the ‘Julie & Julia’ author did.  I’m not writing those kinds of books.  So horribly need another glass of that Rosé.  Near the Road, I’m sure.. thinking not only positively, but pragmatically.  I don’t want “it” to happen.  It has to happen.  Tomorrow.

10:27pm.  Finishing Rosé glass, thinking already, as I always do, about tomorrow morning’s coffee.  Turning off TV.  Want to stay within head, force “imagination.” Sorry to put that in quotes, but I feel about the word ‘imagination’ as I do “inspiration.” It’s overused, too easily voiced, and simply too expected.

There, off.

Not even on mute.

It’s bloody off.

Could use some music, though…

Feel like I’m in that one bakery at which we stopped, in Paris, ’09.  Still haven’t “done anything” with that footage, on the old video camera.  That hotel, loved the coffee in the morning.  How I heard French soon as the elevator landed on that bottom floor.  And one of the last days, the Luxembourg Gardens.  Kelly’s been there, I’m sure.  I’d just want to be there, capturing every single character I could.  I don’t need much exposure to passers by, just singular glimpse.  Maybe that’s an assignment for students.

Characters…  1) Couple from Chicago, asking questions about everything to trellising systems to varietals and how they respond to microclimates; 2) man from Delaware, only wanting to talk about the fish he catches on his days off, but he did say how he always paired them with certain wines, mostly whites; 3) local wine club member, bringing clients to mountain tour, showing them what the estate entails, how she’s “on the in,” as she put it.  I’ll never tire of people, what they say.  I’m trying my harshest to speak less at winery, write more.. OBSERVE.

Not letting mySelf write after 11p.  And I didn’t get to newJournal as I’d hoped.  To late for decaf.  Maybe I should brandish nJ as I watch 11 o’clock [news].  How they sensationalize EVERYTHING.  Everyone today at winery talking about POSSIBLE rain on Friday.  So what?  It’s rain.  And then the “Storm Tracker” reports will come on.  So annoying.

Little Kerouac, notice him changing.  Saying more words, reacting with specific facial expressions.  He won’t be little forever, I know.  Need to keep with my running, to keep up with the little Artist.

New writing approach: on characters.. I’m a fiction writer, so it makes sense perfectly.  character other day in tasting Room: girl, probably mid-20s, quite drunk, with group of blonde friends [all female], all from Napa; constantly talking about Napa wine, and how it just tasted better; they pretended to be apologetic, but it was just covert bragging, far too obvious.. especially to the writer pouring for them.

7miles, and barely sweated.  What do I do?  Run tomorrow.  Maybe for 45min.  Have to charge device.  Felt so lovely tonight, being without one.  Just enjoying run, as writer.  Traffic, all the noise, annoying.  May start trail running, much I hate admit, to avoid all these humans, their vessels, commotion, disruptions.  (11pm)

Police standoffs.. the news loves those.

OH, and building disruptions, holdups.. that seems to be popular too.

Traffic accidents, especially the fatals, as well.

Criticize, criticize.  Solutions?  Oh yeah, that’s not their job.

They only “report.”

So now they’re saying “Rain on the Way?” Like

they’re unsure.  Or to build suspense, like this

is a show.

Aren’t they supposed to inform?

Now I’m really confused.

But forget the news.  I’m swimming through characters, possible characters.  Much I hate managerial bullies, I dearly love them.  Their insecurities, their narrow aims, loyalty/ies, self-lamented baldachin.  This, precisely what deems them target-worthy.  Characters for plot-pushing, their extermination, paged.  Carl, Christopher, Harry, Adriana.. and all before.  The “manager” at Dry Creek Winery, Lolette.  I could easily have a character forcefully escort her to desolate space in outer Healdsburg, end story.  That’s Poe-esque romance, the lasting Literary.

Autumn beginning Sunday.  OH welcome.  Introduction to conclusion.  Like my stance in wine’s “industry.” That so many hold dear.  That so many mold theologically.

And my Self-portrait: one of cyclical pendom.  Self-punishing.  But dedicated.  Everyone analyzed.  My new genre.  Forget the spoken word, sporadic poet bursts.

9/19.  9:52am.  Crazy morning thus far, but I can finally sit to write.  Will work on 41pg-er later, throughout day.  Only collecting paper today, sending them off, both sections, with prompts.  So quiet in condo.  Love.  No music.  Don’t want anything to disrupt this time for Mike.  Back typing, after walk downstairs to get bags.. thinking of what I want these chapbooks to do.  And what I want them “to do,” quiet simply, is change everything.  Make a modern chapman, peddling my pages.  Get me away from this device, and others.  Solely sequence as one of the pen.

Today, collecting characters.  Students.  Different shapes, voices, manners, demeanors.. whatever I can trap.

Just typed 321 words in book, for a vignette sequence I started Tuesday, while writing/typing in that “Reading Room.” Music on now, here in castle.  Still quite a few sips left in mocha cup.  Should get in shower, though.  And shave.  I have the unemployed lumberjack look, that I always cite, about me now.  Uncomfortable.  Itchy.

Throat, scratchy.  Uncomfortable.  Are symptoms returning?  Hoping not.  Don’t want to bring laptop with me.  But I may need to.  Will contemplate, debate Self, while readying for departure.