Hard to keep up with Kerouac this morning. And before you ask, no. No run. Still feel Wednesday’s. And today’s only Friday. Friday, that means nothing to me. I’m writing till I see that bloody office of mine– till I’m scribbling by that espresso machine. Jack just leaned off his toy car, over the keyboard, seemingly saying “why, why…”
7:41am. 19 minutes till we get ready for Ms. Lisa’s. Not making wine this year, I’m thinking. Want to devote EVERYTHING to page. All of it, Life.
Narrative, of a teacher, writer, Literary addict. That’s what’ll get me to Stanford. And the shorts– be them stories, vignettes, or poem. Thinking about everything this morning. Want little Kerouac to have a certain father type. And I’m almost there, I swear.
Going to finish 2nd cup, then [–]
Next day, 10/5… Upstairs, with coffee. Just posted to teaching blog. Almost wrote a full 3PAGES last night, but the Cabernet caught up to me. As did the run from Wednesday morning. Running Lawndale, for one of the last times this year, after work today. Days, so much shorter. May have to join the gym, like Alice did, to get my workout in. Oh, and yesterday A.M.’s entry, interrupted by Kerouac’s little sprints around the downstairs play area, kitchen. Just for specifics…
Only thing on my mind.. teaching. Each day, I’ll do ONE primary act for sakes of getting my into the classRoom, fulltime. OR, to teach, lecture fulltime. Need more coffee– But lost track of time. 8:09am. Should get in shower, get ready for “work.”
8:04pm. Lawndale, again toppled. My favorite such run, on that challenging course, to date. Lower sun, cooler temps.. even smelled someone’s fire, chimney’d. What aromas on that rural run. Didn’t hit goal, of finishing under 50min. Still have some training to do before I get there. BUT, in end: 59:14 total time, 8:14/mi pace, 7.2 miles total distance. May run a bit tomorrow, like 3 miles or something close. Maybe I should do an intense 25 min workout. Not sure, but I will run tomorrow. Not in morning, as I want the vessel to rest. But when home, yes. Or should I take the day off? I’ll let you know.
Will grade 10 items tonight. Also, post to teaching blog. Will grade ten items tonight! The inclass pieces from English 5. Everyday, take a major step towards Artistic Autonomy, I tell Self. Just finished 1st beer, may be time for another. I’ll have the rest of the ’09 Cab I last night opened with dinner.
Memorable characters today, in tasting Room, all the clowns showing up right before close, asking “is it too late to do a tasting?” Technically, no, but we close in three minutes. There are several signs outside those tasting Room doors disclosing our hours, did they miss those?
Gorgeous on estate today. Exciting varietals on crush pad, Cab Franc and Barbera. Took a few pictures, shot a quick video. Love this time. Heard today that I may be getting some Merlot. But it’s not locked-in, not yet. Speaking of winemaking, I’ll finish that short story, yesterday’s 3PAGES, 2nite. Then, into the old entries for this first chapbook. Like the ‘barreling philosophy’ I have with blog posts. At least 1 year of aging before it’s bookable, manuscript-worthy.. “ready to bottle,” as the winemakers voice.
How is it that next week is Week8 of my best semester EVER? Not sure, but I need come at students next week with methods, activities, interactions, WRITTEN lectures they won’t expect. May have to sacrifice running time, much I hate to. But it’s for the writing. It’s for my path to Stanford. And if I never see Stanford, not fatal. But if I never travel, see the Road, my office, write for Life.. that would be terminal. Don’t even want to think about it– So I won’t. That won’t happen. Not sure why I mentioned.
Running past a Kenwood winery’s vineyard, to left, watching vines’ tips pass as I passed. Cool, no traffic, peace.. won’t forget that, ever. Need to train on hills more. Lawndale did succeed in slowing the writer this evening with those 4 hills. Would have been lower than 50min had I trained on steepness, like Woodview (where my wife walks, runs), or its neighboring inclines. Can’t be too hard on Self. I’m running, consistently, that’s what pushes pages. Don’t get too competitive, writer.. detract from your books.
Funny, seeing the vines without grapes. This harvest came so fast. But I love the fall patterns, what is does to writing, or just the walk by vines. Not everything has to be captured. Sometimes, many times, simply living, observing’s enough.
Full glass of the ’09. Thinking of today’s run. And if I could get up tomorrow at 5am, but for writing’s sake, not a jaunt. Would write in poem, as I did this morning. Want to read to audiences, see them speaking with me, singing with me. Isn’t that the most full form of Art, that level interaction? May not get to yesterday’s short story. Better for tomorrow morning, probably. This Cab, not as illustrative as last night. Still enjoyable, but not with the same skip. But it catches me quick. Need to keep typing. Won’t get to teaching blog tonight, sadly. I have mySelf too stressed with efforts. Need to simply let all “flow,” much I hate the term, when people say that. When I ask students what ‘coherence’ means, regarding a finished paper, to have a sense of […], they always say something like, “like the flow of the paper…” But either way, that’s what I’m thinking right now. After this sitting, going to perform poem surgery on some lines I’ve been safeguarding, adding to, for the last few days.
Getting sick of this laptop anyway, as I always am. Hoping for one verse tonight, that’s it. Wish the rain would come back, that always helps with poetry’s tap. And I could use it now, this moment, while I’m here at this table sipping Cabernet.. more than any time usually sprouting. Again thinking, what Literary shape do I want to take? Have an idea, but I don’t want to settle on anything right now. What does that indicate, psychoanalytically? Probably a lot.
Near glass’ end. Lovely. Wonder if the production crew’s still on Estate’s crush pad. Pulses… Thinking… My Merlot– or, my POTENTIAL Merlot. Like the writer I want to be, that I may already be.. Literary shape. Want readers to go agape away from page. Is that wrong, self-centered? Isn’t that necessary for writing Life?
images, study, re-read,
suggestion, reply, letters,
calculate tape, check, monitor,
scattered scrimshawing, look–
Watching some murder mystery, or just murder report, nonfiction telejournalism, on TV. Volume quite low, as Alice texted me from upstairs, letting me know Kerouac was sitting up, strait. Talk about the writer I’d like to be, or type.. that’d be it. Him. Mr. Kerouac. I’m Literary, not musical. Although I’d like this writing, MY writing, 2B more musical.
No grading getting done tonight, as I poured what was left of the ’09. This may be one of my last Lawndale runs– may have been. Grammar jumbled. I blame the wine. And the run, ironically. Looking forward to coffee. And the day I can sip coffee from lobbies, in early morning, only up so early to write, capture all characters in my favorite stage type– the hotel. All the roles, doing what they’re cast 2do.
Cabernet call. All, no stall.