Handwritten field notes from the notebooks. Stream-of-consciousness sessions where the pen makes its own journey: raw, unfiltered, unedited. The point is to mine what is drifting below the surface, not to polish.
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A day of writing with a new pen that flows like butter: measure so you can improve, ego as a driver you watch but do not let steer, handwriting as art, a page outside in the cold air, and the day wrapped up like a present.
A timed freewriting run: can I fill a page in five minutes, or five pages in forty? Clock times in the margins, notes on breath, posture and margins, and what speed does to the writing.
Awake before dawn and unable to sleep, I write five pages: why the notebook pages curl, free writing as practice for the business, budgets as a system, and a short poem about time at the end.
Short lines from a January notebook: keep showing up to the plate, work as a theme for the year, a scrap of a story about Jack, and a page that turns from writing into drawing when the words run out.
Writing again after a break, the thoughts come faster than the pen: seasons as a way to divide time, the paper tiger proverb, and pen on paper as a safe release and as practice.
A January page in German, with an English translation below. Tired from a long cold and too much work, I ask why I take small things so seriously, and look at what is left when I think about the end.