11-2-24

628 words in NaNo.  15:50

Nurse and I heading to Napa in a bit.  She upstairs getting ready, me here with espresso and a novel on the brain.  Wine, returning to the industry, and the fuck with this normality and subscription and surrender.

I’m different after yesterday.  Just now getting to writing but the words and stories have been on mind’s summit all day.  When the Nurse and I were cleaning around the house, our walk in Foothill Park (think that’s what it’s called?), our lunch, and even during our less than 45-minute nap.

More a writer than I’ve been in years. Think I wrote that yesterday but have to punctuate and reiterate and reverberate the DECLARATION today.

Espresso done and I’m feeling more like Hemingway, or Tupac, a fighting writer than anything passive or gentle.  Anyone wanting to encroach upon my peace will quickly learn it’s an unwise action.

The novel, about HAPPINESS.  Imagine that.  Having a life and working where you feel loved and encouraged, where you lose sleep over your story.  Not from anxiety, but rich and addictive anticipation.

The vineyard – my place, and mind, dread architecture, faith.