Downstairs, hungry, not so much in the mood for coffee. Should go for a run but I don’t want to wake little Kerouac nor Ms. Alice. These small presses I’m researching are really quite interesting and innovative and fun-looking from what I can see. But I can only think of the meal at the Glen Ellen Inn; how amazing it was just placed on plate and the flavor structure and the environment back there on the patio with the perfect shaded setting and the waterfall or fountain, whatever you’d call it. Would be a new writing spot but it’s too far away; so much is ‘so far away’ it seems. No sight of sun, however there is light outside, 6:27AM, and the clouds refuse to leave. I hope they stay, frankly. Anymore, I detest the heat. Doesn’t help with anything I put on page and it definitely doesn’t help with my running. Don’t feel like writing, but I will. Stay in this chair– or on this couch. I remember one of the 1A students saying that, at one of the sections I taught at Windsor High a few years ago, the one our family friend Katie D took on her way to nursing school, or the nursing program. Bird outside, one of those crows that won’t release its hold on this condo complex. Poe, Poe.. I think of Poe. And I should, everything has to be Lit just as everything has to be or could be a shot with Dav. Excited for him, about his next trip, which I found last night he’ll be traveling by plane and not auto. Don’t want to say I’m disappointed that he’ll be flying, as there are time deadlines and boundaries and issues and realities with this new mission, just surprised. As I know there are multitudinous stills that could be logged from such a lengthy expo, expedition. My hunger right now, more in mood for a waffle or some artisanal breakfast sandwich or burrito, like the one I had at the Santa Barbara hotel, rather than coffee. Fridge growling, or humming as it always does. So does my core. Think I should do a run, 4 miles this time. And that’s it. Don’t want to get hurt, but I also don’t want to fall out of shape, or decay into something slow. You know? Checkbook out, have to finish my budgets, make sure I stay current with all calculations so I can launch this “label”. God I hate that word. My drive to Mendocino on Monday, or tomorrow, will be one of those changing this writer’s life. Every day I drive up there this coming term, which begins in 8 days, will be so. Dav asked me what I did with that novel I wrote from Spring term, I told him I was using it for the current project, which I am, but I want the opinion of ‘the nucleus’, all the group, or what I call the group now, including Dav. Scott’s too gentle to ever offer real criticism, if something works or not; Crystal is, but always qualifies herself. Glenn stays pretty quiet when it comes to critiquing because he hates when his work is deconstructed, whether with complement or curse; Bob talks about writing, any writing, like it’s a piece in his Lit Analysis class at SSU, but he does so enjoyably and only with the aim of prompting further discussion, it’s actually quite refreshing, but even still I don’t want my work looked at as anything academic, I want it looked at as an artful and honest narrative novel. Dav… the one with valuable remarks, so maybe I should just have him read it. Yes, I’ll send him fragments of the ‘arenas’, as I’m calling the 40-page releases, when I start to print and when I have his mailing address in Missouri. And me as a nucleus member, inconsistent. Hope that morphs.
6:43AM. The fridge stops, my typing halts, and my stomach in a dizzy stillness; coded circles of confusion, indecision. Something in me scream Jane Austin right now, probably the urge to write letters; letters, letters, but I never get a response, even from my friends who claim to be writers. Frustrating and forming at the same time, unexpected character development, and these characters, only giving me more pages, bringing me closer to it, “IT”, I’m reminded of that English 5 student from Spring, Macey, who was searching for It but didn’t know what IT was. That’s always held me, her idea and writing style and willingness to be heard, share her writing even when it hurt– relationships, death of her father, struggles as a student, all of it; Life, what we all face, wrestle with, confront, delight, deplore.
Hope I don’t have any ‘B Tours’ today. Had two yesterday, back2back, and it was annoying, the proximity of such events especially on a Saturday. Hospitality did help with strategy and execution, so I really can’t complain, even a sole sentence, but it bothered me. I’m complaining. It’s early, on this couch to write, and I’m hungry. I always get this way when I’m hungry it seems. Think I heard Ms. Alice wake, or was that little Kerouac? I would sleep more if I were them, don’t be like me, don’t disregard the significance and invitation from the weekend, the permission, to be lazy, or at Peace. Now I’m definitely in a mood, realizing I have to leave for work, again. Why? When I start this small press, officially, it won’t be so, and it won’t be either when I begin my journeys to Ukiah, tomorrow. There’s this one huge rock you see driving south, back towards SR, with a river at its floor. I always want to stop, look, maybe take a picture and react later in writing. These keys, on this glowing electronic mechanical digitized keyboard, staring at me, and I look left and see the notebook, where I started a new ledger for balancing monies. Should tend to. Don’t want to fall behind. Not this time. I can’t afford lapses, need be more meticulous and clawing as time passes.