4/18/19

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Sales team here in about ten.  Been nonstop since day started, noting and thinking trapping thoughts about everything from wine to writing, teaching and education to sales and selling something.  De-emphasizing book idea for a minute, more so fixating on not letting any thought go, not letting and notion or possibility (hate the word, notion), story and narrative, last night’s class still in my behavior I can see and I’m in learner’s stride as well as professor’s.  What do I want to sell…. Nothing, honestly.  But then, everything.  All these approaches to writing, reading, reading the scene you’re in, the wine you sip, the work you do.  Everything I do in the classroom as an educator of English, Reading and Writing, is here.  At this desk.  Like when I used to list writing projects on a piece of binder paper in Math class, freshman year of high school… music projects, script ideas, novels, visions of poetry collections.  Almost too many dreams or sights, but is there such a thing?  I see now at my older age, yes.  We shouldn’t contain ourselves excessively, though.

 

Wine and what it’s done to my story, teaching me not only about sales, but about organization, what to read and how to read it, how NOT to write about wine.  Everything, truly…. Wine it’s fair to say has taught me more than most worlds and stories, characters and scenes.

 

Today, observe more.  Talk less.  WRITE.  Collect.  Learn.  Read, WRITE, be taught.  At this older age, 11 days and 1 month from 40, I’m moving faster in my project and prose pace.

Waiting for haircut

time. No time to waste and no time to wait. All minutes are instructional, all times in your story narrate something to you, teach, they demand your direction and response. Gems compile right in front of you. Eyes should be ever present nets. Catch everything.

Breaking from work for a bit.  Need cereal. Need more coffee.  And, notes.  More notes.  Studying what I do here as a Field Sales Supervisor.  I’ll be honest, I detest the word, supervisor.  I’m proud of my position, I guess, but more so proud of being a part of this.  Everything here.  All the facets and dimensions, atmosphere and narrative nuances of this building, this business.

This morning has been especially meditative for me.  More than others.  Maybe more than any other since working here, I’m pretty sure.

I don’t deconstruct it, or analysis it at all, very much, no not at all. I just keep self moving, keep studying where I am, this building, the idea of speaking in “the Field” about what we have here.

One segment of erudition in this, is THIS.  The idea, the fact that all this precipitates from an idea.

Today I examine all ideas, write them all, no matter how silly or unrelated to anything here or with me… written.

More than a supervisor, today, I am a STUDENT.

Again minutes before class. 

Wrote this entry hundreds of times.  I’m sure probably hundreds.  So I’m not going to write it again.  Until I start to write it again.

Lecture on Wright’s book not even close to prepared.  So I lean on the creative writing invitation.  The memoir.  Not really an invitation as it is an actual assignment.  But not due for another week.  The invitation was to share whatever they’d written, thus far.

6:27.  Have to decide, before too long how I want to start.  More than likely this semester will be the last for a while if not forever, at the JC.  Or anywhere, at any institution.  So I need to make each meeting more than some expected, everyday class session.  Tonight, not scripted.

Not planned.  Just in the moment.  We narrate as we go.  In the moment, as I am now, just minutes before class.  29, exactly.