Enclosed Dose

Only 1,000 words today, all I’d let Self do.  All in the narrative piece.  Re-thinking my project strategy as I cruise through these Hemingway letters.  Wrote a letter to Mom today, thanking her for the books.  Need to stay in that habit, think of others I’d like to write.  One, my grad school fiction professor, Steve.  Another, Gillian, my undergrad poetry professor.

newJournal, filling, with notes for this potential book– forgot I had the decaf ready.  Yes, reader, no wine’s been open tonight.  Hoping to wake when Hemingway did.  Yes, he too was a 5AM-er.

Was thinking, while sipping coffee today: “What kind of writer do I want to be?” Isn’t that the silliest question a writer could pose to Self?  Especially the kind of writer I already am.  The type of PERSON I AM.  Diarist, fiction, stories.. make it up.  But be true.

Two hours of writing between classes tomorrow.  My goal.  All for the narrative idea.  And where, the café.  No lunch, though.  Definitely not the eggs.  Coffee, simple danish.  Or bagel.  The goal is to write.  And write a lot.  And well.  Better than I ever have.  Want to make that little spot on the homey Cotati row my office.  3PAGES of fiction.  Or, if I wake tomorrow when I want, finish what I started, stopping at 3PAGES.  And bring journal inside.  Want all the sounds I heard last time: the dishes, the register tape, the coffee maker, the opening of a wine bottle at a distant table.

Remembering my old town, San Carlos.  For some reason, thinking of the train station on San Carlos Ave.  Only’ve been on a train a couple times in my life.  Would love to take one into Canada, then up to Alaska.  Write the whole way.  That’s what my “type” of book needs.  The stationary’s proving to be deadly.