MS. Lost, Found

Not so choppy a first shift back, after retreat.  In TR, all the day.  Started shift with helping Sam punch down some Carignane and Grenache.  Nice profiles with both, in what they put into air, senses.  Sending chapbook1 to press on Tuesday.  Ten copies only, to start.  Want the next one out be December’s end.  101 pages.  Poetry and short fiction.

Again, failing to grade, write on lunch, as I was viciously famished, needing the leftover pizza I brought.  Tomorrow, not same.  I’ll be in car with my pasta, if I have to.. grading what I can, taking some moment notes.  Only one glass tonight, of the Cab I opened last night.  Should have opened the Zin I brought home tonight.. that 2010 Century Vine.  No.. water after this.

I so very much need to early wake tomorrow, 5-something, I’d like.  And with this daylight savings nonsense, it’s not too far-fetched for me to reach.  3PAGES.  Maybe I shouldn’t wait till Dec’s end till release next.  Need that short story for circulation.. MY ‘House of Usher’.  But tonight, just writing freely.  Short stories, intriguing me more.  And as I think of what I “type” of writer I want to be, for my life’s latter segments.. I envision, invite what’s concise, shorter, more potent as a piece.

Done with Cab.  May have one glass of the Zin.  ONE.  Then to sparkling water.  Any flavor’ll do.  Strange weather this day, probably what has me feeling a bit internally cumbersome.  Or maybe it’s the Cab.  But I’ve only had but a glass.  Or maybe it’s Poe, my session last night at Monti’s, still very much with me.. the narrator’s observation, the Ushers.  That house.  It’s all with me.  Telling me my fiction blades need be sharpened, only brandished when I’m not writing freely, like this.. but with murderous purpose.

Those vignettes from the box.. worth a book, or two, more.  Not going to try writing like Poe simply on account I’m reading him, lecturing on his works.  But I’m inspired to have my characters, narrators ‘box’ the same level depth.

Putting Self back there, in that cube, looking through that list for winery clients with certain purchase histories, “cherry-picking” as one of the common-kissing maggot-pie managers used to say.  How else would I get sales?  I remember the assignment I had just before they let me go.. that list with non-buyers, or customers simply on the mailing list, with no buy history.  I wasn’t producing from that list.  Surprise?  I laugh about it now, but I remember when I was called into that goblin manager’s office, being told I need to “step it up,” whatever that means, I wanted to laugh.  I knew what was happening.  I was being set up.  And here I am, away from them.  Exacting revenge.  Now’s the time I take it.  Be my own Poe.

I remember one time, coming into work only two minutes early, already accosted with questions on a couple orders from day previous.  Never again in that position.  THIS position in Life, 34, I’m waging revolution, for Equilibrium.  For true Peace.  That’s what I impress upon the students, what I always mention with haste.  So here I am, doing same for my present place.


9:10pm.  A glass of the ’10 Zin, poured.  To be in bed at 10:15.  Want my early rise for Barleycorn session.  Retreating into my own thinking, I paint my office, how it’d look, on Sonoma’s square.  Or Healdsburg’s.  When my day would start.  Would I have students meet me there for counsel?  No.  But I still can’t wait for the day when I’m only expected to be in my seat.  On my clock.  For MY shift.

Notes for my stories.. in too many places.  This consolidation that I always speak of.. harder than it seems.  Everything I’ve written.. EVERYTHING.. into books.  Poems, stories, entries.

The Zin, stage play-like voice.  Animated, divisive, flirtatiously contradictory.  And I don’t even like Zinfandel, which is the humorous part.  My character, this new one, more of a struggle than Kelly.  She struggles to find her slice in the condition hers.  Her story has to be told– no, written.  And I will.  Will it help her?  I don’t know.  I just want her to know I see her story.  Her battles with employers, I seamlessly caress.  I have to write her.  Wrote some of her breaths yesterday.  For the second book.  And I forgot, she likes Hefeweizen.

Jack seems to be feeling better, which is of more relief to me than I can type.  Watching older episodes of “The Following.” Poe, dead for nearly 165 years, still touching our day, all societal culture angles.  Hope I do that, as penner.  I still have 16 days, 1 month left to capsule my idealized result, for semester.

Do I have to edit all this in the morning?


English5– Glass Castle’s collective voice.. the relevance

examination of opposites

nonfiction genre.. telling what you want, as an author.. story or message?

Poe Sidebar1

-his Literary shape; wine analogy– maturation for readers

What’s at first perceived, then what’s actual.. ask yourself what you want from his writing.. what have you heard, what do you want to see?



11/4/13:  A successful day for the poet.  Everything from changing my enveloping demeanor this morning, about day, Life, my writing, to doing an angry re-read of “MS Found in a Bottle,” to completing the poem I started on the little pages, at work, actually bringing Self to transferring to laptop doc.  Going to submit this poem, “Owl Loop,” well as two others, to a few Literary mags.  Want to play the game as Poe, Plath did.  Want Lit mags to have no choice but to put my piece on their pages.  And that’s precisely how MY story follows.  This entire day, victory for the poet.  Not in much mood to be a “writer,” today, or this evening.  I’m one of POEM.


11:29pm.  To bed.  But I’ve finished two poems, started a third, for submission.  And I hope I get rejection slips, it’ll remind me I’m trying, like Ms. Plath said.  This whole day, mine, in so many other ways than I’ve here noted. I credit the daylight savings.  I’ve been saved, by these new days’ light, collective.  Obvious, yes, but I wanted a reiterate.  Tomorrow: after Jack being left with Lisa, come home, shower, then fly to Petaluma.  Speed.  Break every Hwy 101 law you can imagine.  Make grading dent.  10+ items.  Then plan, both classes, as you have to meed Dad at computer store.  Going to hold out for coffee till PC [Petaluma Campus].  I’ll get a 3shot mocha.  And if I need more, lean on black.


11/5/13–  In one of the side rooms, intended for group study, I guess, here in the library.  Am I EVER ready for the Poe discussion today, for 1A.  Traffic backup on 101, both north and south, from the Rohnert Park casino opening.  A new centre, for lovers of vice on top of vice.  Three poems finished, ready to submit.  This will be the first act in a habit I’ll keep, embrace, inwardly preach for the rest of my physical writing life.  Submit, put it out there.  Who cares.  And I’ll do this WHILE Self-publishing.

11:47am.  Was down here, Petaluma Camp, before 10a.  On 2nd mocha of day, one made in cafeteria, by the cheery girl with the lively hair.  Always sweet, hospitable, and quite quick with her coffee-ing instruments.  And with such fiery memory, seeing my presence, knowing just what this writer was to demand.

Should select my first Lit mag, for submission.  I’ll go online in just a sec, after I exhale a few more thoughts.  Landed a 3rd class, at NVC.  I know, reader, you may think I’m crazy.. but I CRAVE instruction, teaching, Literature, far more than anything the wine industry could vocationally offer.  So I accepted.

Just have to stay simple, directly, timely and ORGANIZED.  One thing that will keep you alive as an educator is organization, undoubtedly.  Feel like Poe’s narrators, admiring this setting around me.. all the students, their respective rushes, the library staff.. the careers born here, passions, young minds realizing what they want to do.  I wonder how many moments have crystalized to that effect here.

After class, have to meet Dad at computer store in mall, briefly, like I earlier recorded, so I can share my educator discount with him.  Should probably take Petaluma Hill Rd.  Hope that not too many have similar strategy.  (11:54)


8:23pm.  Petaluma Hill proved more than fluid.  Not a single stoppage.  Sent resumé to Mendocino College, to a contact I made there the other day, making calls in car on lunch– so that’d be yesterday I guess.  Later tonight, getting back into swing: emailing 3 poems to a Lit Mag somewhere back east, I believe.  The three I’m sending: Owl Loop, Tide Wearing, and Title Under Hood [which I just finished today, in Petaluma library].  Tonight’s Poe lecture, better that I thought it’d be.

As it happens, I won’t be teaching that section in Napa.  Guess it was never available, or something.  I’m not sure.  And I won’t let it discourage me, at all.  I have my classes this term, well as next.  Just seeing if I can add a convenient, sweatless 3rd.  And it was a low developmental section, so no huge loss suffered.

Posting my Ligeia notes to teaching blog this evening.  Just want to adjust them, color them ever so slightly.  Or not so slightly; I’d like to add a couple paragraphs of personal reflection, on the 2 women.