Meeting Alice at Omelette Express on RR Sq at 11:30. Made adjustments to the outline and now await another response. May put in for a day off next week, to get all the writing done. These assignments are demanding time, and isolated untouched time. Cold in this café, looking forward to breakfast, the drive there.. wonder if I can fit in a run at all today, probably not, maybe early tomorrow morning, or tomorrow after work– no, run in the morning, always in the morning from now on. Starting to tire of writing, not wanting to do anything but listen to this music and zone out, can writers do that? I wonder what the rules are to being a writer, or what someone would say they are.
Want to write a letter, to someone, a writer, to.. who.. I truly don’t feel like writing now but I do it anyway as that’s who and what I am. No more mocha in the cup. So I’m on my own innate energy, and my novel calls me back, for three more pages– the count in today’s inoculation: 2165 words. Actually 2142. The difference was a headstart I last night awarded myself. Breakfast, sounding quite ineffable, to be frank. This current track, telling me to clock out, stop writing, give yourself a break, Mikey.. But what if I don’t want to? Am I allowed to write a poem, or a short, or a sketch? OH! The Comp Book I need to buy across the street! Forgot that, nearly. And exclamation points, no more (advice from my new editor). And I agree. I ravenously loathe them. Like all punctuation, really. And ellipses, too. No more of those and I use them all the time, but she, Caroline, said they’re concerning.. and, to my surprise, I agree. Punctuation should only temper the pace of prose, not add or take away from it. Ah, taught something. Feels asomatous.