Friday December 25, 2009. Christmas here, but then tomorrow away. Time, so harsh on us, especially us writers. The moments past us soar faster than we can scribe. I have decided to devote my Self entirely to the short story. The novel will later come, and it will. Just put together a rough, rough, rough draft of short. Not sure how good it is, presently, but that’s why I say it is rough(x3). Sunriver, so still, so full of peace here. Much more agreeable in terms of pace than my home of Santa Rosa.
Still find my Self having an entrepreneurial itch for hospitality, for restaurateurism, for the pairing of wine and cuisine. Where this will take me, not sure. Well, I have an idea, a hope actually. I want more shorts connected to the industry, so I’m not always writing about writing. Get so bored of composing on the life of composition. My wonderful parents purchased Alice and I a gift certificate for an outstanding Sonoma County dining experience, a restaurant by the name of “Farmhouse.” They were quite generous with the amount, but more so with how the gift was packaged. They included a menu, which reminds me and reiterates the immeasurable genius behind a strong chef. This menu includes dishes that I have never in my days tried, but am now entirely indecisive as to which I would select if seated there now.
A restaurant, like a baby, one’s offspring. Starts off one way, a year down the road hopefully stronger, established. I need a chef character. Derrick. His restaurant, the Quail. Yes, he serves a special Quail recipe, but is also recognized for his expertise with certain light pastas and his extensive wine selection and background. See where this goes.
I looked up, last night, a recipe for stuffed mushrooms. I will start with this arrangement, and then experiment to make it my own. I must attempt cooking a little in order to provide readers a believable culinary character.
Saturday December 26, 2009. Over 1k for the day. Working on my sixth short story, that’s where all of this day’s thousand went. Now, I connect with this lazy log. A new routine? I can only hope. I wrote one of my favorite writers yesterday. My aim to get some advice, some magic words that would put me on a fucking path, already. Well, I did. I titled my email to this nameless noble “In need of Impetus…Idea drought!” Essentially I asked C, that’s what I’ll call the author, how I can stay on one project, and not always be distracted. C responded by saying: “Being all over the place is a great way to never finish anything!” What brutal, and much needed, candor. I am rejuvenated. Thank you, C. After receiving the email, I finished short #5. Short stories are my practice, my Craft now. Again, a novel will come, but not now. Probably not soon. Selling the little tales will propel me, I hope, through and out of the staleness of reality.
Not looking forward to leaving this beautiful Sunriver stage. Wait, I have six more full days here (six?), why am I writing about leaving. Went for a jog this morning, with a crisp, unfamiliar 19 degree atmosphere. The altitude took a terrible toll on my lungs, and legs. Just glad I made my Self exercise.
Still thinking about restaurants, the world thereof, wine, dinning, fine dinning that is, and hospitality. Why, I don’t know. Am I being immature? Am I fantasizing? Teaching has disappointed me in ways that I never envisioned, when I was working on my little M.A. at CSUEB. Restaurants, wine, the menus, the patrons. Fascinating. There has to be a better word than that. Wait…beguiling. Getting a little loony, as I’ve been writing most of the day. Time for rest, reading. (4:19pm)
Wednesday December 30, 2009. Two days left in this 2009 chapter. Yesterday, snow fell, as if some belated gift, as if some benevolent giver wanted to over-give. Out the window, all I see is white, gentle, but still forceful with temperature and texture. Last night, I wouldn’t let myself rest until I reached achieved a 1000 word installment in short #6. Thinking of the snow shoeing mission the other day, in the territory of Mt. Bachelor. That’s what I mean by getting “out there,” doing something different, out of character.
For 2010, my short stories, and perhaps a few essays. This, even more solidified following the program I saw on PBS on Louisa May Alcott. Her tireless execution, project after project, making time only for sleep and runs in the woods. Distracted by the outside blusters pushing snow from branches. Going to miss Sunriver, when I depart in three days. But, dearest reader, I am ready to return to SoCo, ready to enact this new practice, become known as the most dedicated and successful penman of the short story. Audacious, I know. But, my true aim has hereby been disclosed.
Should I go for a walk? The sun is pushing the clouds aside, like a water buffalo (or whatever) annoyed by attacking predators.
5:29pm. Back from another session of snow shoeing, down by the lodge. Had a glass of Ranch Zabacco afterwards. Love the bar at the lodge, “Owl’s Nest.” Stopped at just beyond 2500 words in short #6. The reason I halted there is because I don’t want to force the story, rush it. Which I think is somewhat pragmatic. I’m not sure what to make of Sunriver. Of course, it’s lovely, paradisiacal I would offer. But, is it somewhat blinding, or distracting. I may be looking too much into this thought. Vacation is wonderful, it is altogether necessary.
Feel my prose pulsating in my very matter. Whatever that means. Tired from the walking, and the snow shoveling this a.m. Break.
Tuesday January 12, 2010. Finally, typing again. Curse this abominable technology, what it does to us. Just had this little monstrous laptop returned to my possession last night. Had an acquaintance of mine, Patrick, work on it since Thursday, to remove the most venomous of viruses. Today, I will be purchasing an Apple computer. Done with Windows.
Raining outside, been up since 5a. Hate it when I wake up so early, but not on days off. It’s lovely. This entire day belongs to me. Feels odd typing again. Get over it, Mike. Anyway, the semester begins next Wednesday. Am I excited? What do you think. Today, what else should I do with the next twelve or so hours?
Wine, on the brain. It wouldn’t be so bad to take a drive up to Dry Creek. Never done it before, at least not on my own. Also, need to finish short 6. Not much of a day off. Fingers of fog slithering through the trees, over the green hills outside. Boring, boring, boring, what I’m writing presently. Not going to delete it. Give me a minute…
Noticing some lingering oddities with this fucking laptop. So glad I have that significant stash of specie. Currently, I have $1500. I remember calling it my fun fund. Well, this new computer will be fun, but it will also be productive. It is more than necessary. So glad I’ve held onto those envelopes. All of them, bursting with the currency that will relieve this stress of mine.
9:37p. On the new laptop. Lovely, animated, a certain technological bliss, relief. Strange. Different, still getting used to the new world in which I type. My fingers are weary with these keys. Enough. To business. Tomorrow, I plan to relax and write. A reader actually accosted me recently, concerning an entry in this “blog,” and asked me why I can’t relax. She said “Just because it [writing] is your passion doesn’t make it everything.” Typical fucking remark of a non-artist. Readers, I thank you for your feedback, but don’t expect me to ever sit silent if I don’t concur with your remarks. Proud of my venom, and I will make that known.
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a complete day, meaning from rise to slumber, to my Self, for the Craft. Tomorrow will be the first. Wait, have I ever? If I had my own winery, what would I name it? Chateau Mike? Madigan Winery & Vineyard? Why the fuck am I thinking about that? How do I do a Word Count on a Mac? Just heard thunder outside. Wow, California’s actually delivering some formidable weather.
Racer 5, on a “stormy” eve. FOR SOME REASON...sorry about the caps...I’m thinking about a script, for a play. Three characters, one scene, thirty minutes, all dialogue. Seriously, the Room is a play, everyday, each shift. Speaking of shifts, I need to snatch some. Money, material for these pages. Can’t get over the reality that I’m on a new little monster. How the fuck do I do a word count?
Found it. This computer is turning me into a groupie. Change the subject, quick. To anything. What can I talk about? Fishing. Have you ever noticed how passionate they are? I’m envious of their fervor. I’ll be 31 this year, but I feel ageless, tireless, venomous. Old supervisors, wonder what they are thinking right now, when the last time I passed through their thoughts. That’s vein. Topic next: politics, and those who think they know everything about issues political. My offering to such characters, FUCK YOU! Artistic, articulate, huh? I’m not trying to be. I’m human, whereas you are simply a puppet, reciting statistics you read on dikipedia. Not impressed.
Loving this rain. Haven’t heard another roar of thunder. Disappointed. Gave CA a credit of formidable climate. Regretting it now. Ooo, a storm tracker. What a dizzying and provocative trail that would be. How can I get into such?
Wednesday 1/13/10. Thought I’d write the date a little different today. Mocha1 to my right, on an end table a good distance from this gorgeous new little laptop. Going to a couple wineries today. Imagery, Mayo, and VJB. Not sure about VJB, but I’ll see. Had a great dinner last night with Mom and Dad. How does she cook so well, so amazing actually, every time? Mystery. Need to get back on the ball with my shorts, stop playing in this silly log. Need to get this laptop upstairs. Been down here since yesterday. My hard drive, keyboard, papers. Need to consolidate. That’s really what this new New Year is about, simplicity, consolidation, victory of sorts.
The other day, a lady came into the Room with teeth as purple as Barney’s balls. And she kept asking for more and more pours. She requested that I pour the same wine twice, so she could be sure she wanted to buy it. She didn’t.
Enjoying myself, just sitting here on the couch. Ah, the lazy livelihood of the literary. I was stressing yesterday while re-reading this log, finding typos. Not today, not anymore. Typos are human. Writers are human. I am a writer, I am a human. So critics, keep your beak buttoned, devil!
Thursday 1.14.10. A thousands words, done. An independent piece, actually. One that will stand on its own. Watching “Basic Instinct” on HBO. Not a bad movie, at all. The writing element of the film. Forgot about it. Tonight’s pleasure, 2007 Old Vine Zin, St. Francis. Went out with my buddy James last night, told him I had been thinking about making my own wine. And, truthfully, I have. A Bordeaux blend of some kind. Could I do what my sister does?
I think that the rain is something magical. I hate that word. How about wondrous? It is. Sound, sight, smell, sensations delivered with its delivery.
At the point of the film where Douglas’ character, Nick, says to Sharon Stone’s, Catherine, something to the effect of ‘guess you don’t know your character that well’. I have to admire how passionate Nick is about his work as a police officer, and how Catherine is with hers as a woman of the pen. Should take a walk tomorrow, somewhere different. See, Nick has been put on leave, but is still observing Catherine’s movements, mannerisms, statements. These characters are so irresistible, with everything they say, do. This film is altogether enveloping. These characters are believable, rich, almost tantalizing. Me, as an author, I see things different. I’m sure most watch this film for its erotic scenes. Me, I’m at work right now. Michael D. just walked into a club, where Stone’s character is doing coke in a restroom with her lover and some guy. The music playing now is of a high BPM, and ambient textures and notes, sounds. Thinking I need to create a killer, as a writer. One who has a unique diabolical essence.
I get it, they’re using each other. Brilliant. Nick is making love to her, but is still on the case, I can tell. And she’s doing certain things to see how he’d react. Oh characters, characters. With this Craft, I feel like I’m my own bartender. I’ve already reached 1k for the day. Need to cut my Self off. My Self is my patron. No more, Self. You’re done for tonight. Wine is like a glass that is unbreakable. An entity undefinable. What do I do, or rather, what should I do when in contact with it? Some characters can’t control themselves. I can. Now, tackling the OVZ, 15.5, no match for my artist’s conduct, practice and discipline. I feel sorry for alcoholics, other addicts. If only they could before find some form of crafty and creative expression...
Need to look over the notes I have in my flip-pad 2morrow. My notes on the Room are what will catapult me to the other side, I’m convinced. Research, that’s what I need to do, want to do, am forced to do. This character that Douglas is playing, pushing me to a certain obsessiveness, with ideas for my pieces. Need to cut my Self off. Whenever I go too far over 1k, I become cranky, depressed the next day. Stop writing Mikey! Need to go tasting myself. New wineries, maybe in Dry Creek. Was going to go there the other day, as you may know, but got distracted by some mundane obligation, responsibility.
Ending this session. If I inscribe beyond this line, it will be with concise comments. For example:
-Went to the Gnarly Thorn last night with James. Karaoke night. Interesting crowd, to be brief within illustration.
-Cops, these homicide detectives, more passionate and dedicated than anything, anyone I can put on this page. Even off duty they’re in their case, cases, chasing suspects. A novel, for Mike?
-A female character, one with whom a reader, and I, fall in love. Female characters are far more engaging and entertaining than men. For whatever reason. Well actually, there are many.
-If I could go back to Paris tomorrow, I would. Le Petite Journal, by the hotel, splendid escargot. First time I ever had snails, was at that little restaurant. Mom, Dad, Alice, me.
-Why am I still writing? I know I’m going to be heavy in the morning, probably the entire day. Stop, Mikey.
-OVZ and me. Lovely amalgamation. Reviving. This domicile of mine, optimal for the union. Serene, safe, a secure sanctuary.
Today is truly one of my most productive days of creativity ever. It must be. Before me, my little compact computer, and a candle. Life of an authoritative author, authority over Self. You know what, I think I’m finally going to clock out for the night. Could never be under the rule of another. Must be my own chief.
Why do I keep checking the word count? Love this new little monster. Not missing the old. Not at all. But, still realizing how dependent I am on technology. We all are. Depressing, frightening. Am I a hero or villain? That’s interesting. Maybe something inside of me is the character I am pondering. I find it difficult to write about a monster because I find monstrous behavior so abhorrent. What do I do?
Was just thinking about the time I got lost on the bike paths of Sunriver. Think I was about 13. 14? I did get emotional, but I calmed my Self. Found my way to calm. Sunriver. Missing it. The snow. Now I’m saddening. I’m a wreck, missing Sunriver and Paris. Not missing the Gnarly Thorn. Why did I go there last night? In my fiction, I call it the Cobby Thorn.
Loving this computer. It’s so friendly, and, like my student Jackie said the other day when I met her at the Petaluma campus, to pick up my cookies that I bought her for a charity, for the cheerleading squad she coaches, pretty. I told her, “It is pretty!” When I said that, though, it was hours before my actual purchase. But I knew it was going to be lovely. I’m in love. With my laptop. Pathetic, right?
Encroaching 1k here in the log. “Stunner, yes often, like Hunter S. Thompson.” A rhyme I thought of earlier, when I was at NVC, in my shared office printing rosters. Poetry, in my shell’s fibers and channels.
11:31p. In my zone own. But, I’m exiting. Thinking of Ms. Plath’s entries. Should read through some tomorrow. Going to remember 1/14/10. So persistent, so plentiful. Plentiful, no. I could have written much more. Starting to become annoyed with me word choice. Here it is, the depression, the self-loathing. Need to speedily leave. Bona sera. Hopefully there aren’t too many typos.