a writer:  post 022

Finished another article, off-blog, and to sell.  Today’s been a monster writing day so far, and my quaking composition momentum only surges forward, charges a firing line like it’ll never be hit, stopped or killed.  Little Emma still behind me swings, but the house is quiet and I don’t very much like it— no Jack.

Will finish the lecture for day 1 of Spring, tonight.  Or I’ll try— in fact I probably just cursed any chance of doing so since I said I would.


Alice on her way home but stopping at sbux first.  Asked me if I wanted one and the writer declined.  Want to get out of that habit, have my own in-house café.  Why would I leave when the shop is here?  Paris is here… the cup is full and I write like it is— 2016, ever-gorilla sentence surplus—