11:04p. Restart, with this new year. New business, new book, NewMike. Tonight, Merlot, Syrah, a little Cab. All, about the writing, wine, as I’ve always said. But, I need removal. From the familiar, from the routine. Travel, the solution. An unexpected business trip. Or one scheduled, no matter. I just need the road; new sights, characters, places to write.
10:43p. Five days into this new installation, already have two stand-alone pieces. One fiction, the other expository narration (written today). 1Stop seems to be gripping some attention, which pleases the author. Know it’s going to take time for momentum to accumulate, but my patience is hardly patience at all, really. Not uploading to the wine biz blog tonight, as I’m not drinking any wine. Only Ginger Ale, a Diet Coke with dinner. Now, I need a water. Relaxed, and that’s how I prefer stay. Closing session in matter of minutes. What I wanted to report, Comp Book’s completion. Two stand-alone spoken word pieces in the last pages. Actually, now that I recount, 3. This year, all about sovereign works, ones I can submit, or perform. Writing more, and just releasing. Life’s disturbingly too brief to be cautious, especially with my shape of art. Write, release. That’s it. That’s my Creative Consciousness Stream.
Thought about Self-publishing again, tonight, on the way home. Would be more than speedy in doing so, if it weren’t for the overhead. The Bottled Ox, relying on bottledaux for instant dissemination. Money’s on the way, and that’s what I’m needing more, these days, especially in days nearer; What I mostly thought of on my run tonight, all 5 miles. Need to restart that habit. Tomorrow night, can’t. But Saturday night, I’m thinking… 6 miles like I used to? 7?
Reading assignments for weekend: Katie’s winemaking book, and Capote’s short story collection with which I’ve been engaged in scattered touch-and-go’s. Speaking of landing only to pull back on yoke, Dad told me an incredible story from his early flying days. We also discussed writing about flight. He said, “If you wanted to do that, you’d have to totally immerse yourself in it.” I agree. Wish I could. Me and travel, soon to unite, I feel. A quaver in my core reassures. But when, I want to know…
10:56p. Closing in 4. And I can stop my key punches in exactly four minutes, no walk across the street back to office. Journalism, wine… Thank you, 1Stop. This new wine blog will be it. IT, I’m sensing. Journalism has always tickled me, but I’ve shrugged it off, being of fiction & poetry radix. Why not blend both, like blending journal entries? It’s 11p–oh, 11:01. And I’m still writing. I can do that, as I’m commander in my sessions. I’m on my clock, my schedule. I hyperventilate for MY goals, MY assignments. Tomorrow’s Literary Lunch, if it happens (may go to lunch with Lisa, a coworker), I’ll be–no, not planning it. That’s what I wrote in the final pages of the Comp Book, somewhere. That I’d embrace true spontaneity as a writer. Sit, and see what surfaces. Then scribble, or type. That’s art, that’s real writing. For me. Clocking out,