7:55am Writing more, in the morning. But what do you do when you don’t want to write, when you feel like nothing is deserving of the page. Detail everything around you, about you…. In office corner, this goddamn table that’s supposed to be a desk I guess, coffee, Jack on the couch behind me reading. Emma not in my highest of regards after her complaining about the cereal she requested. For some reason not happy with it and kicking the little plastic bowl as soon as I set it down. Coming to the keys to calm down, settle into the morning, write whatever I can think of… Sunriver, my house in Pacific Grove or Monterey, eventual house that is. One small, and just for writing. Somewhere I’d go and finish a book in a week. Over ten pages a day would be, or could be with no kids around, my pace. My beat.
Wake early in the morning, run, then sit at the keys. Tell what I saw on the beach, about the house… how when you open the door you’re already in a small living area. Office area off to left, right next to kitchen which is small. Little dining table and area essentially in the kitchen. Had the idea of writing out the house, last night, to a glass of that Balletto Pinot. Day 109 of The 365, starting a 30-day project within the master effort. Not noting what. But will detail an inventory all steps.
Emma complaining that she’s hungry and I in no way will budge. Enjoying my sitting, even this goddamn desk. Looking up small beach houses – In a minute. Not now. Can’t take self away from the seat, my thinking right now. Next week and rest of year…. My business, building. Writing more, from writing much more and enacting new tactics, new notes in my manuscript as a human. Even wine being turned to lower emphatic volume. Everything done differently.
Zero spend planned for today, though don’t know if that’ll happen after promising a boys’ day to Jack yesterday. Still don’t feel much like writing, if you need to know, but I’m here focusing on the character of Mike Madigan. Whatever the means. Kids keep turning the volume up after I tell them to lower it. Actually, after I ASK. I’m too nice, I fear. And it may have done irreparable damage. Well, nothing I can do now. Back to my beach house.
Definitely under 1000 sq. ft. Tried looking just now, and nothing that size. Certainly nothing in my budget that I have even set yet. Jackie acting crazy and I nearly let out a laugh. MIKE, CONCENTRATE. The house….. I start scribbling one in the 1948 journal. Part of this new beat, this new music I exude.
Then I find one. It’s perfect. Beyond perfect. Already. I see myself writing solely on a couch, not in some office. This place is for writers like me that write on the stoop, on the couch, at the kitchen table. Don’t need some overpacked and jammed desk. No clutter cocoon.