An event coming up, this Saturday, Halloween-related, concerning pumpkins. But how will I write with that level Frenzy? And why did I capitalize ‘frenzy’? Hemingway, I’m sure, wrote after his experiences.. whatever he remembered was worth writing. And with I, now. May leave the little pages at home– No. Take with, but use sparingly.
Again. I find mySelf living too safe, with little or no risks taken. That will be my first aim in this Newness ideology. Not sure what this is supposed to be.. a freewrite, a narrative, essay.. or just a page, from me. Frustrated in this sitting.. so I write through and past it. Tomorrow, dropping off little Kerouac with Lisa, coming home for quick shower, then to campus, grade– I know, “where’s the risk there?” Plainly, that I’ll be there too early, finish grading the 13 papers so fast, as I’ll be joyfully caffeinated, that I’ll have ‘too much writing time’. Too much, you say, or ask. Yes. That’s just what I’m going for. I’ll write in a new location, somewhere on campus, upper floor of library. That’s what Kelly would do, keep her creative mission simple. Capture all students, and each one differently.
Had one of my friend Sam’s homemade brews earlier this evening. Honestly, a bit herbal, or citric for me. I didn’t finish it all. About 60%. Couldn’t have another. And I don’t have any other beer in castle. That’s what brought me so fast to this Cab, the most expensive bottle the Estate has on its menu [$60].
Like I had the dentist appointment Tuesday, a friend from the old neighborhood, San Carlos, has a blood test tomorrow. She had to eat her dinner quick, finish before 7p. Now, she feels as though every savory item in her cupboards, fridge stares at her. Taunts her. Makes fun of her for what’s tomorrow scheduled. I find that interesting, that mind state. How frustrating that must be.. to be ravenous, not able to bite.
Another person from the Peninsula, going through something rough. What, I’m not sure, exactly, but I wish I had an idea. She knows she’ll get through it, but has trouble with how painful it is, she states in her journal. What is it? Is she writing about it? Should I ask her exactly what it is with which she now grapples, so I can write about it? Is that selfish? I think of Hemingway, or anyone who’s been to war, written about it, or not. What war does to the Human, especially a man. My war, not to be written here, on this log for others to see. I know what it is.
I know I’ll win.
Kelly, already through her skirmish of skirmishes. Maybe I could ask her, if I knew where she was, already. On her travels, what does she think as soon as the plane’s wheels touch new ground? Does she feel the Newness then, or when she disembarks?
The dialogue from the tasting Room, where one of my better stories is– My vantage point, unequalled.. writer, of my strength, observing everyone walking in, everything they say, how their eyes move, what they look like sipping a wine, first time.