What is going to be the idea, the idea that’s like an atom bomb, but in a positive way of course, for my story.

While walking to building, the frigidness of frigidness, and then in the restroom washing my hands, I had the thought that today would be something… will be.  Already is.  Not writing yesterday from driving all around the bay, again, from here to Walnut Creek where I had sushi with two lovely voices from the insurance business, then to a meeting in BMK again this time at a law form for some potential business, I’m just wanting to put something to page.  But more than that, define and redefine something.  Hit 3000 words today.  Can I.  Just to do it.  Why not I say to myself while the marketing bullpen comes alive and I do as well, wanting to run but no I should have woke earlier this morning—case as always—but no.  More excuses, and wonderings why.  Only had one glass of the Syrah I bought in Windsor the other day after lunch, so….  Who knows.

Sent contract to prospective client.  Lunch at 1pm, and may go for a run around 11.  Thinking about it.  Still sub-40 outside, like I’m in Wisconsin.  Would love to travel there and feel that cold.  When working at Dutcher, I heard all sorts of stories about WI, Debra going there to visit family and the winemakers going out there to do whatever….  And this morning walking into 2260 Apollo feeling like some idea I have today will get me there, and wherever.

So much going on around me and on this desk, on this laptop, that it’s hard to concentrate on this page, this entry, on myself… on the idea that hasn’t landed yet.  What do I want, what if I were to get laid off today?  Which I won’t, don’t worry—and it’s funny, this is the first work where I never had the thought or entertained I could get fired.  I walk in here feeling the same as when I walk into Autumn Walk.  Comfortable, safe, encouraged.  Taking break I think at 9:30… go to Zen Den.  Haven’t written there in far too long, other building, 2250.  My little marketing shop, mikemcreate, bringing back to life… have ideas… too many to here list or write, type… put them on post-it’s I tell myself.  And don’t give a fuck if the desk is a mess. That means you’re working.  If it’s clean, there’s something malfunctioning in the composition itself.

The idea, the sight, absolutely explosive… my office I see somewhere you wouldn’t expect.  Like Pengrove, or Glen Ellen. Not Healdsburg or Windsor, or even SR like I used to think.  Although Windsor would be nice, having KIN just down the street, or below my office.  That’d be bad though, I know.  Most of my budget I can see being devoted to lunches and dinners, beers—no, glasses of wine–with whomever.

How long will it take to get the contract back.  Can’t think about that.  Write the day’s aims…. 3000 words, 50 pieces of story (I know this sounds expressive), run.  If I can do that, the day will birth the idea. It’s have to, right?

Old pictures… forget that, what about the new ones?  Ones I took on my vineyard walk on Sunday.  More than peaceful, educating… remind me of photography, blending the shots with words, the me of me’s.

Wrote note on post-it….  “Cold vs hot – both provide story.” Want to walk to other building, scout a place to write, somewhere other than the Den.  One of the conference rooms?  OR…. How about the conference room on the other side of my desk’s gray carpet wall?  Nah, too big.  I need something startup-like.  Has to be the Zen Den.  And if not, then one of the meeting rooms on the building’s East side.

Was speaking to my friend in Product, who speaks French, speaking what French I could to him.  What happened to my studies, I thought.  Another aim for day… French sentences, words, expressions, whatever I can find and maybe write them on fucking post-it’s.  I don’t know.  9:15.  I have over 8 hours of time here, in the Sonic story… create and log everything.  Still some ammo left in latte.  Sip it fast, with a garrulous growl, like I’m in Paris.  Put self back in Paris.  See the streets, that light from the hotel room in ’09.  Feel like I’m there, after my quick chat with Alex.  Didn’t know he spoke French till, like, a couple weeks ago if I remember right.

Tonight in class, meeting on rough drafts, some in-class writing, and I don’t know what else.

But I’m here now.  Have to get in, and stay in, character.  Email the photo lab lady in Berkeley, whose business is actually really neat with all the artwork and murals and posters on the walls, behind the counter.  Brings me back to my marketing shop idea.  Or ROOM, a marketing room or plainly or not so plainly crEATive ROOM.

The explosiveness is here, with my now and I know what to next do.  Get the words out there, no matter how spicy or sexy or bland they are.  The aim as a writer is to remind the work you’re writing.  Don’t be a writer, be writing, I remember.  And when you feel like you’re blocked, just look around you, the voices and the objects, the activity or lack.

Seeing only invitation as the post-it just below my left forearm pronounces.  Thinking inside my own box, my own onus and world here in this tech office, this internet company which is in my reality anything but and everything such.

This idea, maybe I already have it….  Contract lands, from meeting yesterday.  Easily the quickest turnaround since I’ve been in AE life.  So why do I feel flat, in-need, panicked?  I want more.  I’m impatient…. Create and trap this sentiment.  Build from this small triumph.  What you did, what you said, the products and services offered, what you narrated.  After this short breather, I’m making calls, one of them a lead from yesterday’s meeting.  Everything in the story defined, re-defined, sculpted and re-written in a loud way.