Note of New Mike

My Dad once told me that ‘distractions are death to one’s goal’.  I may be misquoting, but that’s what I took away.  I woke this morning, feeling odd, but new.  Hard to explain.  Like a winemaker who’s made a certain varietal, been ordered to, for years, and profoundly self-instructs a well-warranted tangent.  A permanent aside.

Writers, we are the same.  But my qualm is not with any governance.  It is with Self, my reality.  This morning marks ignition of lovely savory separatism.  From my procrastination.  Staying in this studio all day.  In front of the page.  The day’s victory, indebted to Dad, Mom, my students.  This envelop, refusing to release me.  And I’m glad.  Not departing for the mocha.  Don’t need it.  Not now.  This, enough.  Can’t attach or assign a definition or category.  Just know, kindest reader, I’m a writer.  Not a wine writer-slash-blogger.  

A Literary soldier.  

There will be no death to my goal of being on that NYT list, on the store’s shelves.  Listening to a certain poet’s work as I type.  He, I’m sure, encountered this very moment.  There was a sprint in his life where he never left the studio.  Such be I, 2day.  Another artist I currently study, and admire, still present, only breathes within the walls of his creative bunker.

Reader, don’t worry about this entry’s penman.  I’m fine.  Just new.  No distractions.  Embodying artistic extremism.  No chemicals, no diversions, no food, no human interactions.  

Just the page.  

You’ll say, “That’s odd,” or critics, non-artists, will, would.  But I’m a deaf animal to like dialogue.  I’m deaf entirely, today.  

I’m writing.  

I’m writing, for my life.  32, and every day forward will have this arrangement.

The “industry” will have no impact, say, or involvement in my scrupulous resolve, from here on.  In fact, the industry should distance itself from TRUE writers.  The term ANTI appropriately applied, here, in the entry, on this page.  Find it funny how some would advise or scold a scribe on how he writes.  Not going to get specific, or name names, as my most cherished aforementioned poet would have.  What I plan 2do: tell truth, truths, continue uncontaminated.  That’s my new goal.  

(Friday, 1-14-11)