Asking mySelf, “What should I write about?” Both for the actual morning session and in totality.  I hate having to decide.  Doesn’t that cripple a writer?  What do you think?  Another thought I was untangling in this morning knowings is ‘how did I get here?’.  35, working at a winery, not making that much, and teaching here, there, a class or two.  How can I change this?  How can I adjust my voice, my writing voice so that I’m noticed.. or at least heard, read, and freed from the comfortable cove of normalcy?  Sipping my usual morning mocha.. and I tell mySelf that I should act out of character, that’s what writers do, or the ones worth reading at least.  7:51AM.  …  You know what, I’m leaving at the last possible minute, most likely after 9, so I can have a morning to mySelf, some actual peace, some protruding sensibility in my tempestuous till of a routine.  I hear a dog barking, car parking, the usual coherence and conformity of chords in this condo complex.  That too I want to change, get a house, one standing alone, not touching others’ walls.  I also this morning thought about everything.. and I mean everything from when I was growing up in San Carlos, to Arundel Elementary School on San Carlos Avenue, to when Dad and I would have lunch at the marina and look out at the boats, to my first day at Foothill when I couldn’t find a parking spot, to living on campus at SSU, then to San Ramon where I was absolutely miserable working for an insurance agent, far from family, and just starting graduate school– that was 2003.  Now, 11 years later, I find the same existence quakes rattle.  So how do I stop this?  Finally find THE equilibrium I need, so I can write, see the Road, lecture on that Road, at different campuses…?  Should I, or do I write a business plan?  No– just keep all writings in one place, as much as you can.. SELF-publish, smaller MSS, then go from there.. keep teaching, as tiresome as it can be, and write everything, take notes, be illustrative in your Comp Book like Grace from Fall ’13.  OWN your work more– that should have been one of the 35 Laws, now that I think about it, but I should be “owning it” anyway.  No class tonight, and I’m relieved, frankly.  Posted to the teaching blog last night, and now I await reaction, interaction, response.  No music on right now.. I want all sounds and motivating melodies to be natural, like when I run, races I mean.  I never run races with music, I want to hear the characters around me– breathing, stomping, slight talking at the beginning, and the struggle as we merge into later miles.  Running, definitely something to write about, especially understanding that I’ve never run as I do now, never, even when I was much younger and with much, much faster metabolism.  So what am I writing?  ME.

8:24, and I think the morning’s wanting to catch me, push me into some new shape of character to get me to that.. IT, as it were.  And what is it?  The Road.. travel, new sights and people and conversations and obscure shops and restaurants and cafés.  Free me from this day-to-day tape.  That’s adhesive, adherence, and I’m completely bored, disinterested.  But I’m writing, I’m logging it, now, today, 6/27/14, nearly 35 for a whole month.. and what have I changed?  Well, I have escalated my writing speed, efforts, quantity– not sure about quality.  And how would I know if I don’t put it all out there for people to react?  Wonder who’s walking into the tasting Room, ‘TR’, today.  That’s an object, a subject, a character to itself of many folds and facets and forms, changing shapes for the sake of penning.. me!  Oh, then thank you!  Have to balance my checkbook, which looks at me while I type, sitting there, right, next to that goddamn cellphone and my mocha.  Should move the mocha away, don’t want it to be infected by the circuitry, the device’s popularity, perceived necessity.  Ridiculous, that thing.  35, and I’m writing.. me, no genre, but me.  Eight hours from now, we’ll be closing, or beginning to close, and certain guests will be ignoring the obvious, looking around and asking questions, asking if they can try something, some wine, not on their chosen flight.  Don’t they see we want to go home, that certain things are set in motion?  The tasting Room, I will say, is a wonderful barometer for social aptitude, on both sides of that counter, who has it and who no.  The fourth morning without little Kerouac, but he comes home today, as he has a bit of a fever.  Had a call with him earlier, where I could see him, and he me.  His speech and word handling improves with the passing of simple minutes.  And he just smiles, laughs, doesn’t let anything bother him.  How does he do that, my little Artist?  I should write more about him, study his character, see what he molds himself into– yes, I will be integral, as I’m his parent, but only to a degree.. much will be his choosing, as that’s the most beneficial and essential sewings of growth.

8:35…  Now I just listen to the music playing through the computer (“Adam’s Apple” by Wayne Shorter), and realize I should be writing with pen, as I specified in the 35 Laws.  I should buy a new Comp Book on the way to the winery, have that be its own project– but what I’m afraid of, as I always am, is that it will be filled, and then placed somewhere in this room and forgotten–  Well, then don’t do that, I tell mySelf.  Good idea.  I can change, as a writer– my habits, patterns, practices, projects.. everything.  When Kerouac finished ‘On the Road’, he wasn’t even partially concerned with editing.  He just declared that he had something done, something True, something beautiful.