Notes—

Character Kelly, can’t decide on direction of her, in this current short piece.  But then it comes to me, me seeing her drinking some red blend that her cousin gave to her for her 21st birthday, four years ago.

Not going to write any more than that, saving all ideas for the short story collection, due in 10 days.  Hoping I keep with this current character, this writing challenge.  Not a challenge if I don’t it so deem.

Taking a break from basketball and catch, and kicking a ball back and forth on our street with son and watching one of his favorite cartoon movies, or I think it’s one of those Pixar movies… anyway I’m trying to stay busy while spending time with son on this “Daddy Day” as he always calls it and brags to his sister who still has to be in school.

I take a breath, see more of the character and what to do for her.

Son on couch, blanket over him, we both resting from our outdoor back-and-forth’s.  Monday… writing as a father and still trying to be Daddy.  Makes me think of a writing piece, some idea, a direction— a role, a new job… huh…..

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No wine last night,

bed early. Only reason I’m functioning this early, with daughter with cold and Jack who heard us down here and demanded he watch cartoon with us. 05:45, no coffee in house… will try and rest eyes for a minute. Plan for day… a question at this point. No set vision, yet.

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Couldn’t go back to sleep 

so I decided to rise only to have Jack meet me downstairs.  Working event later at winery and not sure when I’ll have time to write.  Not going to worry about it.  I can write what I do now.  Should be focused on time with babies anyway, as I’ll be home late-late this evening.  Glad I’m up now, but hate writing on phone.  Why don’t I have laptop out?  Too clunky and conspicuous.  Just notes for now.  Want to be more like son in how he completes stand-alone art projects, wakes early, and gets right to whatever he was working on last or beginning new projects.  He has the wee hour ethic and habit and persistence of a winemaker.  

And, will I get in a vineyard walk today at any point?  Stressing about way too much.  Why.  Enjoy your morning with little Kerouac and Ms. Austen, whenever she wakes.

Put ice cubes in coffee in tumbler I left in fridge over night.  In mood to have it extra cold.  Jackie watches a different cartoon with little puppies that talk and band together— think they have super powers, or some level of otherworldly power.  On missions of sorts.

“Dada,” Jack says, “do you have a butt promise?”

I laugh and say, “What?  A butt promise?”

“Yeah, a butt promise, I have a butt promise and I throw my butt in the garbage.” He starts on his second waffle and stops the butt promise sagacity.  Watches the gang of endlessly smiling mini dogs run around and accomplish things.

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Couldn’t go back to sleep 

so I decided to rise only to have Jack meet me downstairs.  Working event later at winery and not sure when I’ll have time to write.  Not going to worry about it.  I can write what I do now.  Should be focused on time with babies anyway, as I’ll be home late-late this evening.  Glad I’m up now, but hate writing on phone.  Why don’t I have laptop out?  Too clunky and conspicuous.  Just notes for now.  Want to be more like son in how he completes stand-alone art projects, wakes early, and gets right to whatever he was working on last or beginning new projects.  He has the wee hour ethic and habit and persistence of a winemaker.  

And, will I get in a vineyard walk today at any point?  Stressing about way too much.  Why.  Enjoy your morning with little Kerouac and Ms. Austen, whenever she wakes.

Put ice cubes in coffee in tumbler I left in fridge over night.  In mood to have it extra cold.  Jackie watches a different cartoon with little puppies that talk and band together— think they have super powers, or some level of otherworldly power.  On missions of sorts.

“Dada,” Jack says, “do you have a butt promise?”

I laugh and say, “What?  A butt promise?”

“Yeah, a butt promise, I have a butt promise and I throw my butt in the garbage.” He starts on his second waffle and stops the butt promise sagacity.  Watches the gang of endlessly smiling mini dogs run around and accomplish things.

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Copywriter on lunch…

Wrote a little for client, now a little for me.  Will be up late tonight finishing drafts, no doubt.  Fine by me… hot in Sonoma County, but I smile and don’t feel the discomfort of the blazing atmosphere on the other side of the windows, thinking about the time Emma and I spent on the couch this morning, while she nibbled away at her waffle and I just held her, let her nestle into her crook.  Wedding on the property, today.  But should I go for a walk, record their set-up?  I don’t know.  Here I am, indecisive Mikey, again.  So decide something, then.

For a second I thought I left my notebook, the new one, at home.  Have it in backpack— What’s my brand, what’s my “brand”?  Writing/working daddy… that’s it.  Show other dads that they can do whatever they want.  Show parents, principally.  Just ‘cause you’re a parent doesn’t mean you have to have or accept some expected job.  What kind of life is that?  Not sure how I got on this chord, but here I am…

Just over six minutes left.  Do I go for a walk?  Or stay here, write.  You know what… write.  You can walk and take pictures and video later.  Yeah.. this is me.  The indecisive epitome.  Could use a splash of something.  That white wine on the flight.  Can’t remember where the accent goes in Semillon so I wont’t write it.  But I just did.  What’s with me, today?

Readers— Don’t be indecisive, and don’t try to embellish.  Be as honest as you can in telling your story, showing who you are.  If you’re learning from who you are and your experiences, then others will too.

Semester starting in two days.  The next eight weeks… going to get compacted, maybe a bit stressful, but I’ll write my way through it.  Learn from it.  Learn from all of it.  All of this, readers, is your class.  You’re educator and enrolled.  Ready?

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3/18/17, journal —

Then one day you wake up and you’re 11 days, two months from 38.  You have writing to do, you can’t keep perpetuating any kind of pattern.  Everything has to be done differently.  You map out a map, some plan for doing what you need to do, and you know… if you don’t follow this, you’ll go nowhere.  NOWHERE.  An option not.  So you type, you tell your story, every detail, even the ones that hurt like the details surrounding when you got sick in high school, the ex-girlfriend, all the nights you went out with an old friend when you should have stayed in and wrote.  Everything.  The story… the story…. Your story.

Just thoughts I had ringing in my ears and sight and conception as I woke up and while the coffee machine was making that horribly encouraging sound and song as it finished the cup—that forced airy rumble and growl.  This kitchen, the island counter, littered with parental evidence.  Tranquility in the house at moment current but that will be anything but, this evening.  And I can’t wait, frankly, have the babies home from their grandparents’ house, here with me and their mama at bath time.  And their daddy’s about to be 38.  How did that happen?  I can’t dwell on hypotheticals, potentials, and a tirade re-evaluation of the past.

Still quite taxed from yesterday’s 6.3 miles along Dry Creek Road and around the Dutcher property.  Need to get back in shape, I know.  But when does the writer have time?  Not an excuse.  Make time.. sleep less, get up earlier, write first thing.  And if you run first early in the A.M., as I always want to do but never do, then sit for ten minutes and take notes.  Just move the pen.—  Find that I’m teaching myself now how to write again, or something.  Do everything different, today.  Everything.  See yourself on a plane, traveling to a reading, a “lecture”, traveling somewhere to meet with publishers and discuss book options and tour dates.  I haven’t been dreaming enough, lately.  I haven’t.  And that’s gruesomely unacceptable.

I sip wine, I write about it— each sip should be at least 100 words, ideally 250.  Wine is everything in my life a the moment, in terms of how I make income finds its slithery and slippery way to my account.  And writing… teaching…  Why would I ever consider applying for some office job in a fucking real estate office… or selling software?  Mom once said, “Make what you have work.” Translating or analyzing her dialogue line like a professor, or professional reader, I see it meaning that I don’t have to only do what I’m doing, in terms of job quantity and location, but the elemental composition and worlds is where I should hold.  In other words, ‘Don’t move from education and wine!’ Approach those two solitaries creatively, and everything you want will find YOU.  In a way, 38 can’t get here quick enough…. I’m ready.  Not for a new story but a revision of the manuscript I’ve already composed.  (07:18)

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Up early with babies,


coffee, recording everything.  Today’s decided, or rather I’ve decided today’s to be a formidable step north.  I get everything I want today.  And tomorrow.  Encouraging balance for business– sleep, family, love, health, creative…  All today, and in stages next.  Daughter talks to me in her messy cute smiley speech, and I just listen to the story, feel and purpose myself further in its waves.

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