A page to Comp Book, now I leap to the laptop. Second cup ready and I think of the Jack London museum I’ll visit today with Dad. And the short stories I have to finish, and the classes for which I’m to prep, and I’ll stay awake late tonight finishing everything. Need more sparkling waters, stay away from wine especially now it’ll only slow you. Just like commas. Anymore I hate them as with a lot of punctuation.
“How are the stories coming along?” Scott asks.
“Good I guess, but I keep getting distracted,” I say.
“Ideas for new ones.”
“Yeah don’t do that. You’ll never finish anything. I thought that’s what was up with you, but didn’t want to ask. Just write till it’s done and print it. Don’t edit till.. well, maybe not at all.”
“Not at all?”
“Sometimes, yeah. I mean, maybe a little, but not so the piece is too shiny.”
His words stuck with me. I couldn’t help but wonder how much I’d have printed if I just practiced this. It’s that’s easy I told myself, getting into my car but I had to practice it, show everyone especially my students that I was writing and printing and out there, truly out there, in print. My run today, while Alice is taking little Kerouac to preschool: 10k. That’s my goal, or aim or target or want, more a need. All I can see right now is light overcast, so it shouldn’t be too hot. That’ll help. Each run, I tell myself, is its own standalone piece and that’s what I focus on. Not the speed and certainly not how many calories I shed. Just the run itself. The process; sights, chips, honks, airborne notes charming senses– all.