a writer:  post 017

No wine for the writer this evening, this xmas evening, as I had quite the kind amount last night, so at the desk with me at right is slow-churned mint chip ice-cream— sure there’s an error somewhere there with the hyphens but I can’t be too concerned.  Back in tasting room come morrow and I’m vowing to myself and my blog and readers and little Emma and Kerouac that I will write everything, EVERYTHING down.  And, put it all in some project.  Novel?  I don’t know…  Recognize myself as a fervent and ever-writing writer— that’s not what I want to say, so what then.. see myself as I want others to see me, as Uncle Tim and Auntie Denise see me, last night gifting me a novel writer’s journal with blue lines in them and those blue lines containing the prose of Little Women (very small print).  And one day, my babies read my works in some English or Lit class, wherever they go to school.  5AM rise tomorrow, a must of musts.  I will do it.  I won’t bloody let myself fail this time.  Another gift, or gifts, that show people around me see me as a writer: coffee.  I know, such a surprise.. Alice getting me a box of little k-cups, as well as Mom and Dad, and Cathy, Alice’s mother, today giving me a refillable coffee cup, the traveling kind with the locking top.  Think there’s another name for it, but it’s a cup, or.. oh, a tumbler!  Not sure why that words evaded me as it did, but yes they all see me writing and they all know I drink a staggering amount of coffee.  So that’s what you can bet I’ll be engaging in come the early morrow, when it’s (supposed to be) 20-something degrees.

NOTE:  Edit one page of novel in the morning, if you can…  Start writing the new one, by hand, tomorrow as well.  Going to behead old negative writing habits, instantly instituting new ones.