A Walk to the Front Door

Words, having conviction.  Conviction is not only what “sells”, but what proves memorable.  First sip of coffee, off. Off into the journal, on the Road.  Was thinking something yesterday, about travel and moving, movement.  But the specifics are lost on me this morning.  Plan for today is simple—Calls.  Speak on Sonic, speak on ideas, ideas for businesses, and writing–  THAT’S IT.  Yesterday someone messaging me, asking me if I want to go on a writing adventure with them.  They concerned about being a good writer, they don’t know writing well, they’ve been told for years that their writing isn’t mighty.  I tried my best to quell their concerns and anxieties.  I urged them to just write.  Then I told myself that I need do the same.  Today at lunch, writing and reading.  Writing about my reading.  After receiving the message last night while tasting some 2016 Landmark Pinot which surprised me with its attractive act and tap, I saw Jack upstairs in his room beginning his new Harry Potter book.  Can’t remember the title, which one it is in the series, but the thick one.  Or the most meaty, weighty page stack I’ve seen him bring home to day.  I thought the reading and writing adventure are, or should be, always in helix.

Not sure I was even walking to the front door of the building, after parking.  Felt like I was floating.  I nearly hovered past the door.  Why.  What’s causing this meditation about my character and in my inner voices.  There’s like, I don’t know, a student and professor chant about the morning. I’m learning, with a learning curve that doesn’t indicate any compromise or handicap.  Now that I’m through the door and in the building, I’m moving.  This Mike Madigan knows what he wants but doesn’t know too much about it.  Hence, I suppose, the nature to this project.  On this 6th step of it.  What now, and to where.

The wine last night put my visions and meditations in a number of noted tumbles, forcing more thought and words, conviction in wine.  Chardonnay and Pinot, and whatever else.  The conversation around me currently interrupts the inner recital.  Wish people would just be quiet, but they’re doing their job, and well at that, what I should be doing.  Okay, I say to self.  Note everything, like one of the people talking now that minces my concentration.  He showed me a photo log of sites that he’s inspected and where installs have been transpired.  I was daunted by his photos, not just by how many there were, but the variation and expanse of focus.  Am I aiming to be the top sales person in this division, I thought last night with the Pinot?  No.  Not necessarily.  But I will make an impression, or have my story read.  Not so much a story on sales, but doing something different.  Writer in a tech office.  Often I sense some quake in my character grieving, “I don’t want to write about that….” Or “Don’t write about Sonic.” But ever, that’s all I think about.  This new character, the new story.

A thousand words, Friday’s beginning.  Have to send flight plan, as I call it, to Mark.  Then, off into day.  Prospecting, yes, but building… story.  The story and how I write this new story is how “success” will be gripped.  Appetite for associate words and sentences, more pages in these business cards, this messy work area that I wish somehow I could find time to organize. May come in on Sunday, before winery. Shit… forgot to bring new journal.  Wonder if they have any here, like the ones I see Tasha with, or other people in Marketing.  Checked, and no.  No matter. There are legal pads, and I swear to not start as I have in the not so removed past where I begin penning on one and don’t reach the last page.  Remembering that movie, Crashing, where the writer only used legal sheets, writing on the couch of those two English students. Miss being a student, miss going to class and writing, having something to turn in. Then why not do it again?  Okay….  I’m a student.  Studying, well, THIS.  The Now.  Tasha told me those little journals were from a TedX event years ago, and they’re all being used or have been used.  I have legal sheets,   Elephantine plains that want my words, or I’m telling myself they do.

Reading Road again, as I noted the other day.  And already it strikes me differently.  Not just with Dean in how he’s presented, but the narration and how it always returns to Dean.  That is the singularity.  He is Sal’s Road, even when he’s not on page, or at all in a chapter.  Reading now as my son does his Potter manuscripts.  Just thought, while reading a bit of Road that I should use the blog as my notebook. I don’t need another legal pad.  Already have one on desk, to right next to elbow under a little notepad.  Need more coffee. Already.

Projects beginning to surface.  Wondering how much more writing I’d have to page if I ceased using paper.  Apart from the legal pad.  Or, what if I decommissioned that, too?  More space on desk…. Post-it’s under forearms.  One of them reading, “Before you write—Where are you and what are you doing?  In one word, and ideally one syllable.” Think.  See.  I’m seeing where I want to go in this AE walk.  Keep everything simple.  Say less, listen more.  One project, one word, Sales.  How it should never be sales, how what so many want to do is convert before contributing to a conversation, a new association and relationship.  Right after I walked through the door this morning, I told myself, “Today, no selling.” When I call down these lists, I notice myself getting at times unsettled, or anxious.  And I’m not even on the call yet much less through the door talking about what we can do for them.  No selling.  Just call and say HI.  That’s it.

8/9/19

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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