vocally full glass of my sister’s red cuvée.. the one I mentioned earlier. Get-together at Bob’s, nice and diverse and communicative, all about wine. Didn’t get too far into the vertical, but I did encounter three vintages: ’95, ’97, and ’01. I didn’t know something that reprising and drawn could come from the Sonoma Valley AVA. But I learned, and I grew from tasting the wines year to year and now I have more material for ‘Krystal Vision’.. oh how I want to write that novel before the Massamen piece; and I had a thought, a lovely scope, flash just now, my whole literary and novelized career rounded from the lives of my sister and I; she, Krystal, and me Mike Massamen, and there it is, family on page, a “family business” as they love to say in the wine world but many times it’s just bullshit. But with my MSS it’d be truth, so truthful. The red tonight, more settled, more serene, more mirroring to my preferences, and what else am I supposed to look for? I’m a consumer just like anyone else and I want to sip wines I like, no? The effects of the red are staring to catch me, and I didn’t sip that much at Bob’s house, and I didn’t have a glass as day’s end, today, but I’m slowing, I see, but I’m fighting, potently. No distractions, just prose and stories and the people coming into the tasting room to taste but also some of them for answers, answers to what?… Who knows, it’s wine, that’s what I repeat to myself, but for someone from Iowa or South Dakota, say, it’s more; it’s mythic, it’s Gregorian, palatable Pantheon. And it’s only wine, that’s what I repeat to myself but I live here, it’s my life and I do see myself slowing, I have to type faster like Kerouac before he submitted his ‘Road’ manuscript.. how did he do that drunk? I’m barely bent and I keep having to delete and retype. Driving around the property with Sophie today reminded me of the spell and liturgy of the the vineyard and the Naturalism surrounding the commercial, the transactions, the wine club signings and all the ‘goals’. What? This is Heaven! And we trivialize it! We bastardize it! We reduce it to campaigns and banners and billboards on 12, or 29, or 128.. frustrated with what I see and in love at the same time, wine.. dividing my diligence, so sip whence…
Bed, sleep, sounding more than musical at moment. I need to finish this glass so I can close this night, the chapter that is.. and the bar, not full today, no as much as yesterday, and not as much material, disappointing. And the wine’s done, there, done, now I can close the day. Staring at the empty glass, I think of myself on the Road and having to give a lecture the next day and how I should be in trot of going to bed at more regular hour, like now, 9:23. Why am I not in bed? Tomorrow morning I’ll try to get little Kerouac to school early then to Kenwood to write, maybe some of that hit-and-miss coffee they have in the container in the back by the breakfast burritos. But I need to stay in this barreled bind, in wine, at all times, but tomorrow nothing of such sway! I’ll be running, then the next morning to ‘Road’ with 1A, then to ‘Sur’ with 1B.. I see completely all that’s me… Need sleep. Singular speedy shift, then I skip…
Posts Tagged With: Journal
by what we do, occupationally. This is part of this day, the value set. If you wait tables, you get one look. If you’re a lawyer, you get another. Those looks have in them embedded values, appreciative curves.. Is this right? Just? Civil?
Something I have to follow, but what? Find something to follow, today, something, and not yourself as a story, you’ve been doing that too long. Jeff, the Palooza owner, certainly a candidate, but consider something else.. like what? UGH. Maybe.. a winemaker. Yes. My sister. But could I be impartial? Sure I could. We’ve always had a bit of a rivalry. Friendly, yes, but it’s there. Some don’t want to talk about it, but it’s in the pool, in the air, on all columns of any building we’re concurrently in. That’s what makes Katie, my sister, such an Artist. Not just the brilliant wine she produces, but her undervoiced competitive voraciousness. As far as I gather, she’s untouched and unreachable in a flurry of regards. She, my little baby sister, a candidate.
I have to be interested in someone to follow them, and I mean much more than interested like I find something, a story, interesting, or some coincidence slightly capturing. I need to be short of enamored, or taken. I’ll be looking today, looking everywhere. And for lunch…?
IDEA: stop at St. Francis, buy some of Katie’s bottles, but it’s hard to tell which are truly hers.. I’ll do some investigation or ask gentle questions, they’ll never know what I’m doing. They’ll just think, “oh how cute, Mike’s here tasting, asking questions about his sister..” Or just, “Oh it’s Mike Madigan.” I prefer latter.
6:46AM, what a morning. This HST interview is fascinating, and motivating. I love his statement: “This was my ticket to ride, my ticket to get out of that damn place.” How I feel with the winery and adjuncting. And I will get out. I’ll show that mammering horn-beast full-timer at Mendocino what’s in my pen. Again I’ll say, what a morning. So awake that I’m alarmed, really. I’ve pleasantly alerted myself and no I’m not just rambling at the moment even though it may seem like that’s what I’m doing okay maybe a little bit– the day, not even open, book unread. No sign of sun. Fall, confusing everyone, everything. No birds yet. Alice’s alarm goes, time for her early run as she said. Good for her. She deserves her sprints around Bennett Valley, whatever time she chooses. She’s a hard worker, educator, obsessed nearly. She needs her time, my wife, a break indeed.
2,395 words so far today written. Wrote Dav, wrote my daily 500-word standalone.. feeling like a professional writer, whatever that means– well, one that can actually live from their craft. Hungry, will eat the PBJ I made for myself this morning. And when at SRJC, another black coffee– no mocha.. save for publishing and Jackie’s college and vacation with Alice and our next dinner date.
Two more quick meetings when in SR. Want the students to arrive next meeting with strong drafts for this Wolff paper. I’m hoping they surprise themselves and me as well. I’m trying to hold onto faith in the American Scholar, but it’s been hard this semester.
1:10, time to go. Can’t wait for my Road snacks, and the jazz, and the additional writing I’ll have done on campus, at my base campus, the mainland! Joy! Missing my little boy, though.. trying to work and write and drive through it.
Here at winery and ready somewhat– just from a haircut and with this weather all I want to do is relax before the run tomorrow. Pace self, stress about nothing, nothing– and laugh at those taking any of this seriously. Watch how I react to–
Taking my time with the Spring ’14 adds to the novel. Don’t want to rush anything. classes this morning.. eh. Not as lively as I would have hoped. Just ran into the FT-er that’ll be evaluating me. He’s teaching 8 classes this term after picking up some sections from another FT-er who went out on disability. EIGHT. Would I rather do that kind of load or work in the industry longer? Eh…
My mind is blocking me from whoso, and I don’t know why, it’s only letting me write freely in this journal.– Tried working on the lit mag of mine, but am having spacing issues with the computer. I hate technology. Why do I want to do this stupid lit mag anyway, why not stick to novels, I mean that’s what I really want to write anyway, I want to be known as a novelist, one with novelizing ideas and notions and entertainments. My story, someone just wanting to teach, talk about literature, write about it– the classroom, the students of course, and all involved.. but right now this fucking device is holding me back.. I have to calm, and I need more coffee, I’ll pick some up on the way to campus. Let me try and fool with this program again… Okay I think I fixed it, I think, now I need to contribute more material.. and I need to release it, sell for $5 a pop, 20pp. That’s fair, right? I should contact my writing friend, Amber, as she said in one of her flawlessly sword-sharp letters that she had material to contribute.. now no more second-guessing Self, Mike! Just write and release! Took some notes in class for a piece for whoso, but I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. 12:55, I’ll give mySelf a couple more minutes to write. 15 total. Obviously no students will be coming to this office hour, which saddens me– one thing, or aspect that separates me as a teacher is that I’m ALWAYS here, and always in constant communication with them, or I try.
1:07, leaving in 3.. have to stop by the mail room really quick, and I mean quick.. need to get on the Road, get something in my stomach and head to base campus, or ‘the mainland’ as I used to call it. The drive this morning, still thinking about it– the lack of light then sudden sun voice. And the jazz and how it paired with the luminosity of those earliest hours.. A colleague just printed the SSU cred info after I asked her a question about teaching at the high school level with a master’s.. she mentioned subbing and that’s she done that, and the record you can build by doing so, just as Alice did at the grammar school level. I see my plan thickening, and intensifying in order and voice. All will soon change for me, my topic: teaching, and how I develop the story and let myself develop with it.
EIGHT classes– I wouldn’t survive, or maybe I would. I’ve done seven before, in Fall 2007.. what’s one more?