and, or, its journal. Now wine tonight, not a drop, so I’ll sleep well I’m imagining and I’ll wake gorgeously early to type away on the Massamen novel. Will it be done by the 14th? Well… it has to be. I keep thinking “It has to be 200 pages, or 300, or something paramounting…” But I write what I write in that time, that’s when its due, and that’s it. So there will be a printed MS by 6/14. I have to teach myself better project management.
Back at the winery tomorrow and I’m looking to write at the Yulupa coffee spot after taking little Kerouac to school. Oh.. and I won’t give up short standalones, fictive and or non. The novel is my grand project, I think of it like these actors that work on sitcoms but work on a movie in whatever spare time they pin. In fact, a piece of flash, or rather micro fiction before bed, after this entry. Time now’s 10:02, and I can’t wait for bed as I’m sure I’ll early wake for some writing and some thinking, reading some of those Kerouac dreams– and print pages soon– and officially kill the other blog, the teaching blog, and then go further into wine’s story.

This thought of wine and how finally I have control over its story and thematic makeup, and how to place it in my story and it has nothing to do with the act of sipping, tasting or drinking, but just observation, how so many walk into the room with this blank canvas or palette, and with that I see and I hear and my senses are elevated as they are now– empowered isn’t the word, but more of a voluminous story compounded somewhat cubist-like.. not sure it rings any bells for any of the readers, but I’m getting somewhere I know with my story, with the shorts (my TV show, if you would), then the novel, my movie.. This can be done this will be done it is done.

3 days till 26.
I mean 36.

(5/26/17)