NINETEEN

6/30/14–  And the month is done.  How did that happen?  Tonight’s class.. looking for gems, beauty in the Walls family experience, hopefully finding something useful for mySelf.  Legs exhausted from the past two runs, last two days.  I’ll need a break, today.  May do a walk, which somewhat counts for cross-training, I guess.  Hot and uncomfortable, and in a mood of sorts, but I’ll write and coffee my way through it.

Everything funneled into one MS.. I’ve always thought that possible but now it’s just necessary.  That simple.

 

One sentence at a time.

 

That’s all I have time for.

 

Anymore.

 

My character, J, and his pursuit, C——, both in the same calculation, and I’m the one writing about it, as a local journalist, covering home winemakers…

 

4:28PM, and I find mySelf in the adjunct cell, more or less ready for class.  Sipping an iced nonfat mocha.. doesn’t taste as good, but I needed something cold, or quasi-cold, with this heat.. each square-millimeter of my person feels like a heated cuff chokes it.  It’s uncomfortable, and I don’t at all like it as I age, this heat, or any kind of heat, and if humidity were coupled with it, forget it…

Ditching the last book idea, or thinking about it.. I’m just going to write and I need something to shock me– or scare me into printing my pages, stop chasing anything in this industry, with the exception of my own label.  Going to the Hilton Bar after class tonight, hopefully, see all the snobby travelers in there, how they look around, compare themselves to everyone around them.  I think it’s so humorous, that self-elevation and anointment.  But I need that.. those characters, for my sketches and stories.  I want to log what they drink, what they wear, how many people they’re with.. all of it.  Would they look at me funny, there, sipping my Racer five and writing in the Comp Book?  Would they wonder if I’m writing about them?  I don’t care, I’ll tell you right now.  I’ll keep writing, recording, everything.  Thinking of a GREAT consolidation.  Of everything.. EVERYthing.  Into 80-page mss, as that’s all I can afford to Self-publish at the moment, and I’m not sure I can do even that much.  But I have to do something, de-emphasize this blog.  Produce only books.. and why not?  Okay, maybe I’ll hang onto the blog, but like I said, ‘de-emphasize’ it, dramatically.

The jazz, making this small, sterile office into a more human space.  Still no word from that other place, and I’m beginning not to care.  I mean, what would change?  How would it help the writing?  Would it?  I can’t say for sure, but my doubts are beginning to mount like collected debris from a flood– a pessimistic surge in this area deemed paradise or a vacation spot by outsiders.  That’s always made me smile, grin dismissively, how these tourists think it’s so easy to live here, that we must have no troubles at all, that we’re on vacation ALL the time.  But that’s worth writing, how they come into the Room, in just the most rounded of awes.  And we, behind the bar, stare back at them annoyed– well, sometimes.  They’re more enjoyable when I’m sipping with them, especially the people that ask things like, “Do you have any sweet wines here?” Or, “Is there wood in this Chardonnay?”