Tag Archives: Classes

05:39.

27 Dec

Could go back to sleep but why, I asked myself, then I could feel my frustrations foment, ferment, forward from my core. Busy day yesterday getting resettled in home and no writing being laid to page, its place, where it and I need be. So again, why sleep. Back at winery today, work, and I wonder how many people I’ll see. Don’t have any particular hope, for many or few. What I am hoping for is time for the day to teach me and me trap those sagacious bites.

Hating what I’m writing, but as I suggested just before the semester closed, delete nothing. Keep moving. Don’t think… my story, the writing/working/teaching/whatever-else father on the couch after little Ms. Austen evicted me from sheets. I’m seeing only pictures of the vineyard, not so much wine as I do those rows, the canes on the ground and hearing the birds singing from one area of trees across a little valley to another group. And me in the middle, just recording, agape. A writer… at a winery. But I want to be more than that, today. “What do you want to be?” Maybe the day can, or will, answer that for me. ‘Cause right now I have no response.

Stay on the page…. hear myself in the classroom, advising students in their last days of composing an essay. And those papers… when will I get to those? Tomorrow, hopefully. Need always ‘wake early like this. How many times I’ve said that… my life would be different I’m sure if I had actually risen every time I said I would. Made coffee last night. On the little docking station of the keurig. Too into what I’m writing to go get it. And I think I hear Jack waking. Please just give me ten more minutes! I type faster and about everything around me… boxes and little plastic parts that latch to air vents to direct the heart or cool one way or the other. Shouldn’t the painters have reattached them? Now I am just taking up the page– page robbery. But I’m not. The morning, this cruelly early hour tells me to always relay and reiterate my reality as this writing daddy.

No shirt, cold, even with the heat. Probably the coziest most comfortable blanket I’ve ever owned around my leg and torso, keeping me somewhat composed temperature-wise but chest and shoulders a bit shiver. Heat off, and I get more uneased. Write through it, remember? Today is more than one of those ‘trap everything’ days, and more than just writing down some silly or obscure, strangely and obscurely poetic babble about wines I taste. I will capture my Now. In all its specificity, boring or intriguing, entertaining or educational. Right now, up as early as I am, there’s too much opportunity to get ahead of the day, time itself. I’m ahead of it. Now. Battle the clock by refusing to stop. Learning from this, yes, I guess, but more so enlivened, uniquely. So quiet in this house I think I can hear the cars driving up and down San Miguel, blocks away. This house, now, my studio, my creative box where I think galaxies outside any “box”. I’m educated by this sound void, the no-light sight of it principally, the cold slithering over my upper immediacy.

I’m learning that waking early not only solves and propels a day, notably for a writer hoping to be more disciplined and sell his work, but for Personhood, general enrichment and spiritual assembly. I nearly never use that word, or any form of it, denotatively or connotatively. That’s my realization, though.  And it is ‘spiritual’. There is a specific recomposition of my character’s composition in this sitting, in me forcing myself to wake, stay awake, sent my functioning what it wants. I’m forwarding. New discipline. The morning taught me, then I instructed myself.

Someone’s awake upstairs, and this collection could cut, interrupted at any minute. Keep going. No stopping. No pausing. Nothing that blocks or pauses me, and certainly not stops. So many hours left in my chapter– this day, this installation. I will write in the vineyard, no matter how cold… blow apart the regularity and pattern of just going to the office as I always do. Going over in my head things I have to do after that but why… see yourself where you want to see yourself then take yourself there. You deserve what you want, as that’s a need. Need to be there and take yourself to that There, without excess meditation, deliberation.

Someone’s up… think Jack. Or wife. Someone. But you can’t stop, don’t listen, just write. Finish that book, finish that other book (shorter one), and SELL. You don’t have to wait… What would you be waiting for, anyway? No answer ’cause there isn’t one. Typing on my phone like some high school or JC student but for different sakes. Sales. More than that but that is part of the aim… managing myself as were somewhat managed at the winery, me “training” to be a manager, learning as I progress to manage my paginated acts here, or try. The morning gives me a break in the lesson, meditative collection, but I don’t want one.

Heater about to come on again, I look at the time… 06:12. Whoa, I think. Time’s fighting back. Adorable. Well…. time to intensify my assault. Hit the day from more than just multiple approaches, or angles. Multiply my manuscripts… creative efforts. Delete nothing. NOTHING. Be as one manager said the other day, “bold and unapologetic”. Yes… you know, hearing those words from him, I knew he was speaking to me on more than one note, for more than one purpose, in a way he didn’t even fractionally intend. I’m intrepid this morning. We all are, if we just make ourselves GET UP. You have much later in life to rest, to have real reasoning behind NOT getting out of bed. Why am I just now seeing this, 2 days and 5 months before turning 39. Makes me sick, makes me motivated, a bit angry– hungrier. I will be There, soon. We all will. We have to show everyone around us how horribly we want it and that no one deserves it more than we do.

Nothing stops you.

22 Dec

You never have to stop.

For anything.

Or anyone.

Just keep with your sprint.

Be defiant.

Glow in your rebellion…

Create a newer and more poured form

of self.

notes

20 Dec

This day… this WILD WEDNESDAY, will see more fiery creativity from me than anyone else attempting anything.

Today, the beginning of a prophetic re-write…..

Write a letter

19 Dec

to yourself.

Teach your Self something.

us now

14 Dec

Done with papers.  Headed to room in six minutes.  Can’t believe this is the last day of regular instruction.  It hasn’t registered with me yet… why.  Daughter turning 2, tomorrow.  Time just rubbing everything it does in my face.  Have to write quicker, teach quicker…. Ready self for Spring.  Ordered books, Tuesday.  Accomplishment…. This idea, ringing around my head like something more than bells.  Like an agitated animal of some kind.

I’m an educator, sitting here in this adjunct, shared office with decisive indecision, which is a decision if I’m acknowledging it, I guess.  Have to print something now… not enough time, but there’s plenty of time.  Good thing I have more coffee in this cup.

11:50—  Go print it now.  Can’t.  Some luncheon in the same conference room where the computers are… wait.. can print from this office.  See?  Mind moving so quick and frantically that I’m not seeing what I should be seeing, right in front of me. Learning from that, from me, this instructor in a chair typing from caffeine’s curious court.

Just knocked out two things.  But… shit.  Have to walk to other building, Maggini Hall, that dusty, decrepit, dingy edifice as I call it.  Smelling all the food has me hungrier than hungry.  Taking a breath…. Learning.  Always ‘in the learn’.  It’ll get done, I tell myself, knowing it will but knowing somethings could have been done earlier.  But, no sense in grieving, voicing some frivolous critique or deconstruction of my ways and actions, practices, not sure they’re “habits necessarily”, but…

Last day of term.  Make the radiance rain.  No… make it storm, thunder violently from your pages and ways, character and creative quaking.  We’re all teachers as much as we are students, this last day’s instructing me.  Like Hemingway, everything around me.. all doors and people, books and voices, words, cups and pens, notebooks, bags, steps I hear in hallways, walkways, crossing the street, teach me.  Wouldn’t say I’m educated, or taught.  That means it’s done.  The study won’t end.  It can’t.  I don’t want it to.  And if I can put both off, for all days, then I’ll be accomplished.  I think.

All days you should say—

14 Dec

I love how the cosmos are composed and contorted for my forward.

Writing Prompt

10 Dec

Do something out of character, log every second of it.