Friday, November 7, 2014

Man: Untold

Just 55 five minutes ago ended a straight five day work week at the fuel center, here in Corvallis, Oregon (44.5667° N, 123.2833° W).

Without seeing what application this duty has to my desires in heart, I could forsake mention of the job, other than to tell you how good it feels to be out of there (which it does); though, thanks be to God, I can look at is as helpful in preparing me for my future. Directing on a movie set, you have the leadership to walk with an intimate crew through constructing a scene, while having to discern creative decisions in balance. Without detailing specifics, attending fuel is similar, granting me hope enough to sink my teeth in with passion.

Hours following from here, I'll type more transcribing of a book being written on a bicycle tour I took from Los Angeles (area: Paso Robles, San Luis Obispo, Cal Poly) to Oregon, Idaho, Spokane, Seattle, south to San Francisco, and hitchhiking north into Corvallis. Right now, in it, I'm north of San Francisco at the beginning of my ride (20,000 words in, about one third of the way through its bound totality).


There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

~ Ernest Hemingway

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