Already with the stress of ‘what can I get done/what will I get done today’, I’m walking away from that mood before I have my coffee. Going with the story’s intentions today and keeping notebook nearby (and I’ve accrued quite the reflective bay the past few days in the Carpe journal, everything from wine notes to tasting room atmosphere, to rushed haikus, to expanded business plans). Need my office.. the studio’s clutter’s beginning to take a toll on the writer like the distance of a long run. Which is one true demand today. A run. Any length. And, a standalone piece of prose, whatever length.. while making the coffee I thought 300 words. But knowing me it’ll be more.
Now I’m thinking about my writing, selling it, how I always say I WILL, and I’m nearly 37. Am I satisfied with this ineffective pattern? No.. how do I change, what do I write that will change it, how do I feel the Road urgency and insistence Kerouac did? Looks like I haven’t shaken that stress, and the urgency is more a fire or active fault in my spiritual and creative geography. Another sip from the large coffee I just made… I know that all will be cured and changed the way I need if I can just wake earlier, the magic time of 4AM, when Alice’s friend ‘L’ rises to do her exercises. And she’s completely changed her appearance and mood and lifestyle, everything. The early hours are magical, I can see that, and every time I fail at starting the day’s pages at some courteously cruel time, I scold my self and hate that wait till my next opportunity, having to crawl through the present day till my next performance time. Get up earlier, you book’d bloke…
“Just wake up!” I yell under and behind the eyes. My son, just feet from me has no idea what’s going on. Part of me wants to— want to be that example for his, that banal thought of a role model. But I do, I would rather be sitting in this red metal bar stool thinking of how I already have a standalone piece to sell, and have gone for a run, written some Carpe notes, and who knows what else looking at my son thinking “I wish he knew”. Right now, I try to catch up, and I won’t stop moving and writing and thinking, noting with these full cups.
Note everything— these empty peanut containers, empty rice cup, the coffee of course; relics of the writer father, only wanting the Road, travel and all the characters out there waiting for me.. have to measure my approach with all these new affairs. Teaching cred’.. the new winery.. independent gigs I get. Selling everything, myself as a brand— that tireless writer and blogger, life recorder, learning, teaching, teaching self and recording what I gather. Noted yesterday that everything holds an instructional element. I’m in class, I’ll share what gems I pocket from the day’s lecturing. Teaching and learning, selling this consistency or more so sharing it.
But money’s always a concern, and the entrepreneur posture may be the only that gets me to where I want and need to be.
One other note in my book, self-realized yesterday.