8/28/13– 7:22am. Coffee brewed, poured. Kerouac playing with some toy piano over there, by sliding glass door. Me, quite tired. Should run over to kitchen before next sentence, swig loudly.
This revived interest in Flash Fiction, incorporating it into 5 & 1A, has me thinking about composing some of own.. ACTUALLY, establishing new parameters for my sittings. My mind doesn’t work in LONG chapters, books. So, before day’s end, 1 standalone flash piece.. 1,000 words or less.
Would love a day off, but need income. Badly– In fact.. no more. TONIGHT: arrange 41 pages to sell. Bind Tomorrow, between classes. Ten copies. Let’s see if I can make mySelf do this. For once.
“So early…. So awake…. So much on my mind… So stupid…” a friend wrote on her account.
8:17pm. Did Lawndale again. This time with Carmen. While running along 12, noticed that a few of the blocks, of other wineries, some neighboring ours, had been picked. Before I know it, the Fall foliage will have set, harvest will be over, and I’ll be grading essay 2, or 3. Didn’t visit my wines today. Wasn’t meant 2B, I guess, much I hate that phrase. Sipping an IPA from Speakeasy, the “Big Daddy.” Just what I need after the run. Probably going to spill out last night’s Zin. Not in a wine mood. Certainly not Zin. Wrote spoken word today, while behind bar, walking around Room, along with notes for flash fiction pieces. Will try to revisit tonight, at some point.
Time for dinner. Starved.
10:24pm. Even with my obsessive voice, habits here on page, I’m tired, close to surrender for 2nite. Going to make up for it tomorrow, with a Barleycorn session, I’m hoping. Haven’t forgotten about the 41-page selling project. Gathering ms tomorrow. Hoping to leave earlier for Petaluma.. write ALL day. Noting rest of night…
= One glass of last night’s Zin? Yes, you deserve.
= Coworker, buying a refurbished espresso machine.. makes me think of the one I want in office.
= TV on mute, turning on music to put me somewhere else.
= May not finish glass I poured, as it’s celebratory in size, Don’t want to jeopardize early rise.
= Alarm set, 5:15am. Need to force Self up, brew coffee, write. 1,000 words, exactly, for day’s flash piece. The ‘name tag’ idea I wrote in little notebook today, while by ResRoom register. So beautiful at estate today, from floor to mountain’s top.
= Wine Bar beats playing, just as they did on those Literary Lunches, when I was chained by box, downtown Napa. Recently received texts from Tina, Lisa.. wrote them, “Miss you guys, but don’t miss that place one bit.” Tina responded, “Amen!!!” So horrible, that office, how it portrays, “represents” wine. It’s obsession with “luxury,” the whole bloody “white glove approach.” Should write some flash on Them– OH! Just the appropriate time to break out the cubeNOTES I wrote while there, the headset encircling my skull. […] “I sit, only to hate I’m not standing. While walking to office, the hundred or so yards from parking lot, I fantasized about about-facing, getting back in car, leaving. Yeah, they’d fire me. But good.” Could begin the piece that way.
= Tomorrow, making the greatest writing day EVER.
= 11:45pm. Time for bed. Filing for divorce from these devices, how they hold me BACK. In early morrow, writing pen2paper first, hopefully. Writing either way. Good evening, reader.. about to visit that Raven have it swim entertainingly 4ME.
= Progress of this laptop monster’s functions, beginning to scare me. No more. No more.. only pen, ink, paper, lines maybe. Over the device dependency. Onto Literary lambastes.
7:31am, 8/29/13. Coffee, just starting to introduce itSelf. Going for 3PAGES today. Need to have finite practice, stick with it for Life’s rest, if I’m ever to be in office, see Road. Will return to log when 3PAGES have written, printed–
8/30/– Sipping ’08 Syrah from winery. Finally a few minutes to relax. Zeroing-in on truest style for writer, this writer. Editing, not really an option with the scarcity of “free” time. Have to send invitation to aspiring contributors to pedagogy blog. Lots to do tonight, so not too many glasses. Hear me, WRITER?
One more post to blog, then try to finish something for 41-page-idea. Yes, I’m back to calling me projects “ideas.” Today, after work, helping friend [Sophia] with event. So pretty on patio, light breeze, sun showing only vine tops, guests sipping their ’12 SB. Didn’t feel like work. At all. Going to bring glass in here, I think. Keeping Self in Literary mode. No distractions.
Putting together a plan, for my writings. One 3-pronged. I know, I’ve said something like this b4, many timez. But tonight, I know what’s needed for me to see Road, office. The 2 blogs, the sequencing small releases. That’s it. Simple. Poetic. More believable. Thinking of next move, in this moment, here on couch. Need ‘nother Syrah sip, to shape a re-shapedness? I want what I want, what’s mean for me.. Equilibrium. The consistency of a Truer me.
Still haven’t sipped. To kitchen skip… Surprised how animated it’s holding, with its age. Going upstairs to check on Kerouac, see how his rest goes. […] Quite well, my little Artist. Goal by semester’s end.. support Self, family, as writer/professor. That’s it. Need to post to blog for students. Let them know I’m there for them.. ALWAYS.
10:17pm. On night’s cap, listening to chilled beats. Just checked on Kerouac again.. sleeping like an exhausted bear. Posted to blog for students. Today in tasting Room, could only think of them, their readings, interpretations. Already eager for Tuesday’s sessions.
Just read another student comment, posted just 6 minutes ago, or so. So lucky to be in this position, I’m realizing. TV off. Only music. Would have more to write about if I were on the Road. Sorry, reader. Please be patient with me. I’m working on it. I swear. This semester, my notes, my students, will help get me there.
Survived Reserve Room today. Not that there was much to ‘survive’. Another calm Thursday. Tonight, fit in 5 miles, over 40 minutes [almost exactly]. Another strong sprint, thankfully. On run, thought of ideas for standalone short stories– which, by way, didn’t get a chance to edit yesterday’s finished piece. No matter, will do tomorrow. Didn’t get lunch today, so I wasn’t able to touch Comp Book, even once. Made a couple notes for this semester’s lectures. 12 days till day1. project R continuing, forever.
Sipping a glass of the blend I last night popped. Was going to open the Central Oregon beer from Mom, finally taking it home tonight, right after work. But, saving for tomorrow.. Friday, my TUESDAY. Been thinking about boats, traveling on one. Nothing too extreme, just getting away. Or maybe I DO want to do something extreme, like sail around the world. But wouldn’t that be dangerous? How about sail up and down the west coast? Up alongside Canada, land in Alaska where I could do some writing, staring at colossal ice chunks falling into frigid Pacific. Would want to take Jack, Alice, on such a mission. Don’t want to experience every adventure pushing pages onward alone. That I know. Some Road ventures, yes, I need to be the solitary scribe. But not all. Especially with my Literary Shape. It requires characters, and who more motivating than little Kerouac?
On run, heard this one instrumental, managed to recite2Self a little on-spot verse-ing. Can’t remember rhyme content, any of my words [most of which took place between Yulupa & Tacheva and Yulupa & Bethards, which is a couple blocks of inner poem..]. After this entry, to yellow sheets. Goal: 1 verse. No more. How long will this eve’s verse be? Depends on when I want to stop, I guess. Has to be over 16 lines, though. Setting realistic aim for night.
DECREED: POETRY PRISON. NEXT SEVEN DAYS.
See what I produce. How many standalone pieces/tracks. I sign-in after this entry. This’ll be good for me, I know. Poetry always finds me, no matter where I am. Short story ideas, journal urges, don’t stop me the way rhymes do, the pull to poem. In these 7 days, I want a book of poems DONE. My time “budget.”
Tonight, free, a free night to contribute to the project, get a head start on this dash. What if I write something that’ll change me, my Life, put me INSTANTLY on the Road? So, only think in poem. Doesn’t always have 2B rhymed, but don’t dismiss words that for such a marriage. Want Jack to see me as a successful writer, one with unique practice and gift.
AMENDMENT: I’ll only write prose for blog, at day’s end, to report what I’ve done, what I’ve written; how many tracks I’ve finished for day. Can just see Self, reciting to crowds in places I never thought I’d visit.
ALSO: Everything handwritten. Pen2Paper. IF the focus is Poetry, you must live and practice the poet’s Life, minimizing if not abolishing technology.
28 lines, written. Filling full legal pad page. Bonne nuit!
8/9/13 — Day1, poetry prison. Scattered rhyming today. Busy at winery. Finally opened the Central Oregon beer. Quite the creeping presence, I must say. Tired of the news I’m watching. Think it’s time for night’s cap, then sleep. Early up in morrow, to write, for my caffeinated verse compositions. Haven’t done an inventory yet, for this ‘3[+]4 project’. But I think I have somewhere between 2&4 standalones. Before work tomorrow: 1 new track. And with my rimed speeches, before this new semester begins, bolder in my statements, target addresses. Just opened black&white Comp[book].. forgot I scribbled a couple lines before clocking. This night’s cap [Little Sumpin’], only slowing me. Need caffeine. Can’t wait for morrow.
Topping my wines.. tomorrow, somehow. After I scribe those incessant letters.
NEW PRISON LAW: blog entries, no longer than 300 words.
Tired. A writer just wanting to relax. Lay on other timezones‘ beaches. Not write, not think. Just horizontal. Sip coldest of ice-waters. No alcohol. Want to remember, be able to summon all this whenever I select.
Off device. Returning tomorrow, to legal sheets, as I did this morning with blackest of beautiful coffees.
8/10/13 — Day2, poetry’d incarceration. More scattered rhymes at work, but some I really like, actually. Ran 4 miles after work, averaging just under 8min/mi. Think I had 7:58/mi.. again, I think. Before bed tonight, inventory of pieces so far finished in prison. Had a former student, from this past semester [100 section], visit winery today, part of larger group. One person in this 11-person crowd, the cellar master from AV Winery. Made my day, honestly. The former students girlfriend complemented me, saying what a profound influence, difference I had on this young man (Mr. W). I didn’t know what to say, honestly. Only knew what to say to Self, really, internally: “This is what you were meant to do.. this matters.”
Five of these small square cookies, decaf cup at right. Wasn’t in mood for wine, beer. Need to be focused, finish projects, change what is. Tomorrow morning: run w/Carmen. Howarth Park, 6:30.. target, 5mi. And I HAVE to top my wines tomorrow. No fail, seriously. Don’t know why I didn’t do it today, at lunch. Not sure if it was laziness, or I forgot. Or I was hungry. The latter, I’m sure. Tomorrow, singing differently.
Finding these evening sessions harder to get through. Limited stimuli. Why I need the Road, horribly. On run, lowering sun, and while jogging down Woodview, saw the suns florescent magenta shape boasting as it lowered. Was tempted to surrender mid-run, just watch it fall. But no. Stayed with mission. Want to see lowering suns in other countries, in other world corners. Tired of wishing, though. Need to leave, force that change. How? Just going to keep writing till it happens. Documenting everything on this log.
Think I might have around 4-5 standalone tracks since putting Self in this versed composition cell. Have to transfer what I wrote today in the little pages, to the legal pad. Those yellow pages are the launching station to this laptop. Want to see everything written, first. 2LIVE as a POET.
That question, always thrown at me, “What do you write?” My new response to the idiotic probe: “LIFE.” Where are my little pages? Ugh, here I go once more… In bag, of course. Thought of course theme for English 5, “Authorial Acquaintance.” Objective: to really know the Author we’re reading, meeting, engaging.
Tomorrow, my Thursday. Lots 2do, with letters I have to write, topping wines, other tasks.. never enough time. Think I want another cup. Why not? It’s Saturday night. Wait, is it… Yes. Hate the days mismatch. Run tomorrow.. what am I running for? Ideas, always. This change in my character, never saw coming. That is, what a devoted/obsessive runner I’ve become. Should find another race, a 10k, to do by month’s end. Only 6.2 miles.. could do that sleeping. No, but I COULD do it unprepared, as I’m always in “training” mode, now, with these consistent dashes.
Making 2nd cup. Need it. Staying up as long as I can, to write.. fit in another track for this ‘3[+]4’ project.
8/11/13 — Day3. As my own warden, I’m allowing mySelf a couple minutes of journal time this morning. Time.. 6:47a. No Lawndale, as piece didn’t align as I them needed this morrow. No morrow, doing the long run after work. Hoping for a short standalone before leaving home today. Already sipping coffee. Need to. Kerouac was up just a couple ticks after 6. Last night’s run, so short, don’t anymore feel it, like I did the 10miler I the other day feat’d.
Today: Letters, barrels, 3 poems. All while at Estate. Have to draw from what’s there, the nearly 2,000 acres of material for this writer. Last night’s inventory, after the 20-liner I rushed before 11pm: 5 standalones completed in this metered penitentiary. Want 24-26 total. This isn’t going to be a huge release, and it’s not supposed to be. Want to deliver precisely how I think.. and I so do in bursts, moment-based reactionism.
8:37am. The obsessiveness really bubbles this morning. Quite tempted to leave early today. And I still may. Bringing legal sheets in case. Already have some lines, rimes on page this A.M. A little perturbed about not going this morning for the Howarth/Spring Lake sprint, but I have to let it go. A whole day’s ahead of the writer. A whole day of incessant questions on wine, what they’re “supposed to be tasting.” Getting a bit tired of it. And the instance yesterday with Mr. W., still quite prevalent in head. Know what I’m supposed to do. Class starting in 9 days. More than ready. Almost unhealthily eager. Patience, Mike, PATIENCE.
Off to estate. Tired. Need mocha. 4shots, probably, even after two cups brewed here in base. Too much in sight. Need to relax, embrace this angst, or stress [if that’s what you’d call it]– no, eagerness– rather than fight it. OR struggle with it. Writing in what little free time I have IS my “genre.”
9:20pm. 7.52mi on Lawndale run, in 58:15 [7:45/mi rate]. More than satisfied. Last guests this day: 2 younger female characters from the city. One, “A,” more than comely, quite encouraging as we shared ideas on ambition, entrepreneurship. We both agreed that merely “going for it,” much I cringe with that verbage, is best for the Artist, characters set on having their own lucrative corner. Knowing I’m still very much in poetry prison, I’ll be “posting” every poetic thought, rime, verse, line, metered arrangement to these screens. One I thought of, before that infamous hill where I was last time–when I challenge Lawndale alone, only 2B–accosted by pesky bees: ‘Cowardly Lawndale bees, if only they could read these seeds, pummeled by cacophonous breeze..’
Home, sipping an ’09 single-vineyard Cab. Surprised by its grip, frankly. Probably won’t be the writer’s only glass. So relaxed, surveying Self with much higher pleasure.. not overthinking anything. In fact, no thinking at all. Just writing, as I told “A,” just after 5pm. She confided a fear of writing, I told her to just write. What I didn’t tell my ineffable new ambitious ally: the writer doesn’t always put into motion what he promotes. But, if you’re reading, that changes this night. With this writer’s ’09 glass. Actually, it’s getting a bit low, in honesty. Refilling soon.
Thinking of class, 9 days. Almost completely at ready. Would put Self around 80% “prepared” [hate that word, too]. This devil laptop, moving again slow. Should be writing on legal sheets. But I need this read, what I’m thinking. Want you to see my pace. I’m not thinking. I’m writing.
‘Cause. Writers. WRITE.
Impasse, no. Not now. Not tonight. And no, I didn’t top my barrels. Maybe tomorrow morning. But I did write 4 letters, however. Hate writing those bloody things. Moving a pen for anything other than MY pages SICKENZ me.
Today’s tips, to 2nd envelope. Have near $1,000 in ‘startup’ tenders. Holding onto them, though. Actually, pretending they don’t exist. I try, quite painfully, intently, to pretend they don’t exist. Want to start my career as a “professional”– no, SELF-sufficient– writer with either $0 or coins from the German mug’s coins, upstairs in office.
Trying to sedate Self through sentence, but TV’s still on. These shapes, death. Even more so than overthinking, the inaction it begets. In moments, 1 last Cab glass. Poetry prison, even with prose. Tired writer. Lawndale’s ripples, being felt. Should touch my syllabi, really quick.. hold on– Editing 2B done. Ugh.. with my thought stream, editing not needed, not in next “post.” Hate that word more than I want to confess. How about, simply, ‘entry’?
10:18pm. The writer, depleting. Need that final ’09 pour. And to turn this devilish chatterbox [ugh] off. Final pour, finally poured. Can’t get the new character’s positivism, fervor, endorsement from head. Listening to Thievery, seeing office on Sonoma’s Square, or Napa’s downtown, so those devils would have to face the writer. In definite poem mode. Want readers, other writers, to know what I’m thinking, what words with which I toy, right up until I’m in departure. So am I wasting time writing this prose, these long sentences, succeeding paragraphs? No. Just gambling.
Over 2,000 words to edit. How did I let this happen? Especially when I’m supposed to be in PoetryPRISON? As always, 2morrow’s coffees already call me. This wine, not liking my attention diverted. Do I run tomorrow?
Kelly.. what happened to us? I used to write you all days. My fault. Don’t see Self suited4Fiction. You’re proof. What are you doing? Are you still painting in your studio, sketching in your hotel Rooms when touring, away on business trips? Where was you last visit? What songs are you listening to while you paint? What wines have you opened lately? Write when you can..
Why does Fiction have to be so hard for this verse-ist? I’m overthinking. Just fictionalize present, if you want done a novel, or short as you the other day did. Almost forgot about that piece, curse me…
Taking Jack to Mom & Dad’s in a few. Need more video content, more documenting, I’m thinking following the documentary I watched yesterday. Not relying on phone, or any ‘app’, as I learned last week with Sam’s and my broadcast. Veraison, already taking place, I’m hearing. Have to get camera ready. Should probably drop a couple of the photos I shot with phone, for winery. Don’t need them, that’s certain. And they don’t enhance my content.
My cousin Nick, just opened up some media/pr/ad firm office in SoCal. Not sure if it’s his business of someone else’s, but I love the look, layout. See mySelf closer to MY office. What else… Alice just opened door to leave, cold. Little sprinkles. Miss the rain. Would love some on retreat, but forecast promises warmer numbers.
Only a matter of time before Jack bores with his books, calls me over. Will write later, after run. And after 3PAGES. Not sure I’ll post to maddenedread tonight. Maybe some notes, lecture points I’d hit about Plath– or that I WILL hit, in Fall. Doesn’t have to be prose. Think I need another hit of coffee. Where’s the case to this camera? -8:24am
8:55pm. Not getting to 3PAGES today. Too tired from day, run I just did. 4 miles in just over 31 minutes. Wanted to stuff the 4 within 30, but started to slow, at end. Retreat in just under 3 days. And I’m ready to finally complete the ms that’ll send me, quickly, to road, my office. Met a couple teachers in tasting Room today. Had one read the second entry for teaching blog, written last night, while she finished her tasting. Positive response, citing poignancy and brevity both as boons. Won’t have time to post again tonight, but tomorrow, possibly morning, certainly.
Sipping some sparkling berry water, just before getting into a little of the SB I was gifted today. Didn’t film anything today, as I chose to have lunch with co-workers [H & J]. Glad I did. Needed the break. Slight breeze, gentle and musical, as we sat there, chatting under the caring umbrella.
Jumping to spoken word in a minute.. the comfort of the Comp Book. Want more poetry in my Creative Life. Keep saying that, but always divert to this prose. Love my entries, but poetry’s who I TRULY am. So why am I not doing more of IT?
Challenge to Self: Six spoken word pieces in the next 48 hours.. beginning now. Or, when I finish this entry. Have only made 1 plan with a friend during retreat’s reign, Sunday night. But that will be the ONLY 1. On Tuesday, Wednesday [my days off].. only Writing. And PRINTING. Have to get this 59-page work done. Meaning Printed, Released, Sold.
Hate this laptop. Still. 9% battery left. Now 8%. This is why all writings should be done on paper. Only use this thing when I have to. Another goal for retreat: Get all writing off this devilish button bomb.
Vineyards are definitely different in the earliest of morning minutes. Last year I was able to just walk around, after taking pictures for the winery. I remember getting a little disoriented, then finding my way, wishing I had enough light to write. But then I understood that writing wouldn’t be appropriate.. I should just enjoy the walk, catch just a little on film.
Watching over it again, I already look forward to when this vintage’s grapes are pulled, how the sun’ll come up, what I’ll see in the bins, how the grapes’ll taste.
There was an odd freedom on that walk, just stepping by mySelf, with little light, tired as I was.
2012’s Harvest was huge. I’d never seen anything like that before. And then, before I knew it, before we all knew it, it was over. What I’ve tasted from those vines, so far, whether newly-released whites from bottle or something pulled from barrel or tank, simply incomparable. Again, never experienced anything like it. It was odd, seeing those vines unoccupied, but I know another such vintage’ll happen. Someday. Till then, I can only look at the stills I shot. -MM, 6/19/13
Calm, and with thoughts clear this morning. Stopping with 1 home cup, as I did yesterday. Printing pp 81-120. Sticking with this project.. you have no idea. Yes, especially after that Stephen King quote last night. That, and I want my own office already. I’m officially 34, time for REAL business. Will write, read a bit, throughout day. Then at night: READ. I’m only allowed to write after reading’s done. Want this book, or the first 40 pages I mean, read & edited by day’s end.
Need to email my writer friend. Should probably do now, while I have a couple free secs. A little chilly outside.. where’s this hot weather those weather slugs were threatening?
Already see some issues in printing. Pages are off. May have to fill a little with old, or new, writing. Not a problem. At all. Again, sounds like the printer’s saying, “right here, right here, right here..” Weird. IF it’s trying to tell me to stick with this book, it needn’t worry. Book almost completely printed. Later today, 3.5 miles out, and back. Want a challenging run today. But where should I go? I don’t like running on sidewalks of busy streets. Certainly not hwy 12. So where? Will have to think.
Page 96, 95… Almost done. Excited to see it ALL on actual page.
There [8:59am]. The entire book, in print. Draft 1, done. Next run, the final final draft. Was thinking of a “business plan,” as a writer. And I think I have one. Not typing it, yet. And I don’t even know if I want a “plan,” per se. It goes against my entire stride as a writer.
Just called in, to make sure I have the day off, as it feels so odd not setting up the bar, or stocking, or counting one of those infernal registers this morning. But here I am, writing. And yes, I’m not “scheduled” today. Already well over 1k for day. Put about 600 words into OFFblog log. That I can see turning into a noted release of mine. Or series of releases. Hmm.. now I’m thinking. How about a walk to get a mocha? Indeed.. something out of character for the writer, one all about character, characters..
5/31/13– Finally at table, at keys. Today’s run, more of run/walk. Was chased by a couple squads of bees coming down Lawndale, ran so fast that I put mySelf considerably far ahead of Carmen’s and my pace. But, approaching Hwy 12, I was without steam. Had to initiate slightly speeded walk. But in all, 1 hour 20-25 mins of taxing activity. Was warmer today than I thought. And on Mountain, more scenic than I’ve in a while scene it.
First tour, a young lady, probably about my age, from Dallas, with her Virginian Mother. Anne, Sue, respectively. Driving back, Anne couldn’t believe how beautiful it was on the estate. And I mean, in COMPLETE disbelief, many times remarking on how she could so easily relocate to our state, to Kenwood, anywhere with vines, a view, inescapable wine. I told her I’d heard that many times before. Many. Times. Almost daily.
Last tour, with wine bloggers. All three of which I’d been eager to meet, actuality’s plate, face2face, for some time. Sipping a COLD Racer 5, here at home. Was tempted to take the Rockpile Red from collection, the one I last night took home from St. Francis event. But beer sounded better. Tomorrow morning, printing. Looking for ten pages. Of anything. Not letting pieces go over 4 pages. Shouldn’t be a problem, with this new coffee machine I took home, for birthday.
Book, nearly done. I promise. Will be selling it before June’s end. Again, PROMISED. I don’t want to be looking for work the rest of my life, hoping there’s openings, available shifts at wineries. Those days are done. I’m 34, going after what I want. NO, not ‘going after’. Just bloody taking it. And with all this material around me, in the Wine World, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Going in early tomorrow, to taste my wines. Blair said, as soon as I touched down this A.M., that he was going to pull the oak chain from the barrel. I tried a last week, the week before, but couldn’t get that stubborn thing out. Hope nothing’s volatile, reduced, or otherwise. Need to start thinking about this vintage.. as I’ve said before so many times, as you know. ’13, last trial vintage, to be sure. This, promised.
TV off. Tonight, only Art. Sparking music.. where’s the Comp Book? Oh yeah, in my backpack, that the lady from that marketing group gave me a couple weeks ago. Love that thing. Perfect for days like today, when I have to bring/pack running gear to work, for changing after clock-out. This morning, though, couldn’t find the black & white CompB, the one with over a year’s worth of writing in it borders. Ran downstairs in search, asked Alice where it could be, if she’d seen it. “It’s on top of the TV, isn’t it?” she said. Sure enough, lovingly yes. Not letting that thing even inch from writer’s sight. Ever again. I swear, my heart leapt from chest, this morning, waited on desk, told me I could have it back when I found the book. Surely–no, THANKfully–I did.
Now that I think about what Anne said, this IS another world. This valley.. all the others… All of it. Wine does that to us, this place. Now I do want a glass of wine. Will wait till morrow’s latter clock portion. Still haven’t turned on music. AND, I need to see how far I ran vs. how far I walked. Those hellion bees. They won’t keep me from that course. I’ll be running it next week, actually. And I hope to see them again, whereupon I’ll ignore them. The don’t have the gaul to sting a writer like me. OR, they shouldn’t.
Just found out Grandma’s in the hospital, with serious condition. Not sure what to think, feel. This is the part of Life that I don’t get– well, I do, I just don’t particularly like it. Mom said she’ll let us all know when she learns more. But my mood falls. Grandma’s easily one of my personal icons, with her energy, wisdom, storytelling, insight, tireless love. I honestly don’t know how she is how she is. That’s how I want to be, many her junior, and am struggling.
Just did rough calculations.. looks like I ran about 4.9 miles. Those devil bees. Was it the cologne I put on this morning? Ugh.. so angry. But Grandma always tells me to let it pass, that life is too short. She’s right. She always is. Next run, I’ll do better. And I need to time mySelf, use that application Carmen did.
Almost forgot about the verse I wrote last night. I’ll post it tomorrow morning. OR, maybe I’ll rack it into book, print it for my little sis at work to read. She, “Kenzie,” appreciates Literature, thought. So rare, for characters her age. Most are seduced by the pervasively terminal clouds pop culture garnishes in collective consciousness pots. Actually, now that I think.. I will rack it. I’ll do that as soon as I pass 1k, here. I know, told Self I wouldn’t go past 500 in posts. But you know what… I’m. A. Writer.
Not a “blogger.”
Not a social media scullian.
Was going to attach a picture to this “post.” But I just want to write. Why is that so awful, or at least odd to some? I’ll never get certain behavioral tendencies in “the industry.” People deify, worship winemakers, but dismiss writers–and I mean REAL writers–thinking we’re self-absorbed (which of course winemakers never are..), weird, immature. I just laugh, as I haven’t even began to start.
Air conditioner on. Music, low. In my wine café, the one I’d write about on my Literary Lunches, when working at the box. Miss the Roasting Co. But not that brazen-faced cubicle.
Writing with these notes.. grace saving, a late taking. Optimal. Optimum. My opaque opiate. This must be the Racer, taking stage. Thanks, Healdsburg.
Need to ditch this keyboard, actually write. Separate from the wires, buttons, applications, digitized dope.
Grandma, what is she doing right now? Wish I could be with her. Went on about Self, this entry, to get mind away from her. But I should, shouldn’t have. This is Life. How do I write, when Life is always here?
This all, some other world–
Typed 1600 new words for book. Can’t believe how quick I did that. Looking forward to morning coffee, playing with little Kerouac. No class tomorrow night. Happy, to say least. So hot today.. sure the vines are happy. Don’t want to write anymore, after that huge sprint for book. But it’s what I have to do. I can’t just sit here, on couch, and not write. I’m not even sipping anything. Well.. I will be in a sec: sparkling lime, like night last. Hopefully something new occurs in morrow. I don’t care what it is, long as it holds positive ribs. Like the other morning, when I woke before 5am, started typing.
Travel, on mind. Journaling everything I see.. capturing all characters. IF a reader walks away with anything, from this log, it’d be that I love writing, and I want to see the world.. so I can WRITE about IT. My birthday, in 9 days.. already dreading confirmation I’m 1 year older. Maybe I should allow an all-out Gatsby, this Saturday. Yes, I’ll record, but I’ll partake as well. OR, I could stay home, enjoy whatever incredible red bottle I want, over a meal ordered in, from 1 of my preferred SR spots. No idea how to play.. but I have to suit Self as if it’s the last. Appreciate each day, especially ones I’m expected to celebrate.
Need that water, now. Tired. Going to watch the news, then bed. Can’t wait for coffee. Don’t know what it is about that morning ingredient– of course I do, it’s deliciously assuring, a multi-colored melody for my inward telepathy. Tornado in midwest, Oklahoma, destroying anything. Think it was Oklahoma.. anyhow, it was unreal, what I watched. Would love to cover that, as a journalist, writer. Starting to see new visions for Self.. in the who, what, when, why, where, how. NewJournalism–