Back from getting a sparkling water and 4-shot mocha after run. The clutter on my desk again gets to me. So, then, take it off, right?
Just removed some. My sister posting more pictures of her adventure in Italy. I feel motivated and jealous at the same time. The paper stacks from last semester, still in this room. On floor, again. My big project, a long declarative de-clutter. Get rid of everything. Have this desk top clear, all the time. In fact, take a picture, for my own sanity, everyday, to remind and show self that it’s clear.
There, that’s what a writer’s area should look like.
On run, 10 miles, averaging 8:31/mile, burning, the Garmin said, 1174 calories. Not that I calorie-count, as I’ve written before, but that’s what I did. The day now getting away from the writer. Dad coming over in a bit to do something to the house and I have to prep for tonight’s class. No panic, no stress, no resisting reality. “It is what it is,” so many say. An expression I rather dislike, in fact I bloody hate it, but right now it’s aptly applicable. Day’s going to do what it’s going to do. Will just move, and in ways I wish, with writing, little pictures I take, notes, being active… Thought a bit, rather significantly actually, about self-publishing on the run. (Surprised I can even remember since I usually forget about 95% of what I think about on runs.) Need something to sell, just 40 pages, the ‘Mon Petit Mise’ effort. Returning to that. First issue, all prose. The next, maybe, some poetry. 30 days to change everything, haven’t forgotten. Want to read to audiences, may do so on video blog, or get creative with that idea, in some way. Need time to think about… Have to pick up Emma and Jack around 3:30, so there’s more time gone, but that’s a boon to the writer, time with babies.
Fall, a 1-3 English 100, then a 5-7 1A. What do I do? Don’t want both, frankly. So SELL SOME FUCKING WRITING! YOUR SERVICES! Everything I need to have my office, and travel, is right here, in this room, this home office with me. Now I see. Well, I’ve known that before this sitting, but now the reality’s taunting me— “What the fuck are you waiting for? Go get IT.” I will. By July 18th, significant advancement. And I mean, SIGNIFICANT. No work outside this blog, except for ‘MPM’, and push my writing and teaching services, independently, and like MAD. Need more Newness, more Madness, more beauty from and to these pages. Freedom. No clock. Only the office I elect, and adhering only to an image I’ve drawn, sketched. And I see it, him, that Me, back in Paris writing in a Composition book at some café by the train station, getting hungry but remembering what Hemingway said and keeping myself in the chair, pigeons flying by and tourists with their noses in the maps, nearly running into others and a light pole. I laugh but return to my journal to write what just occurred. This is not some typical or easy-reading lazy travel blog I’m writing, but the writing father’s life, who’s finally reached where he wanted, the Road. Now he writes it, and brings home to read to his babies, wife, and family.