the writing dad takes inventory of what’s been done. He thinks about what he wants. Certain specific aims in his career– and what career is he building? What if he stayed up all night? And just planned? And actually promised himself to the plan? What then? How would the story change? Something’s coming tomorrow, something to further personify my business. Looked down at Matheson from the event room in the Healdsburg Inn, where I did my pouring tonight– thought of it as my office, how it would rile me with that same view at 8am, coffee, ink, unlined paper– ’17 sings, tells me to wake up, wake earlier for the mornings. They’re guns, loaded, meant to help me in all duels.