9:33am. Writing retreat day, 1 of 2. Already catching Self in OVERthink. Just write, I tell mySelf. Going to have a couple waffles, the blueberry kind that Kerouac loves, take quick shower, then return to café. Shooting for a 20 page reading dent in chapbook1. Now, truly, it’s about necessity. Plainly, I need the extra money. AND, I just want work other than what’s on this bloody blog out in the world, in front of readers.
Quiet kitchen. Perfectly Literary if it weren’t for all the clutter. One of the primary reasons for some offsite writing. Charging cell on table with me.. Alice’s computer, a plastic Halloween pumpkin, with blank inked face afront, full of candy (in plastic bag, which I opened last night for two peanut butter cups, to have with decaf), an empty tall plastic water bottle, then Jackie items, toys, little socks. Need one of those clean, clear rectangular tables at the café for any productivity.
Character at coffee shop, just over 30 minutes ago: young man, second day on job, obviously frazzled while still in struggle to remain pleasant, hospitable. Gave him two dollars, saying “Don’t share this with them, that’s for you.” He smiled, saying “Thank you, sir.” Hate being called ‘sir’, but of course I didn’t say anything.
Funny, how I’ve always said I need to take some PTO days, for writing’s sake, and here I am.. stressed, about what to do.. what to write. JUST BLOODY WRITE, MIKE! Very well, okay.. I do want to finish a piece of flash fiction, about 300-350 words on this new character. No details here, sorry reader. Saving for 2nd chapbook. WHICH, I promise, will have some older writings in its borders. Said the first one would, but I became overly excited, distracted as always, and failed to top with any. So… Next book.