journal, 1/9/2012 – Monday Manuscript

Wrote the article yesterday, on the slow season’s impact on wineries of varying sizes.  Have yet to edit it.  Was going to today, during my Lit Lunch, but I decided to stay in the office with my lunch, scribble on my new legal pad’s yellow sheets.  The last time I do that, ever.  Nothing done, not a single beneficial step in writing.  Mistake, total.  Tomorrow, back to habits artistic.  I don’t care how hungry I am.  Time, now, 10p, and I’m just sitting to a page.  Unacceptable.  Topic next…

Do I have Creative A.D.D.?  Really, do I?  Starting a project only to not finish, distracted by another.  Winemakers have no such luxury.  Their Creative process is sequentiality epitomized in ways I still have yet to fully appreciate.  It’s not allowed, tangents or distraction.  If they follow such, their goals, projects, die, horribly.  So, with this sitting, this tardy typing, I’m enacting a new practice.  Not going to talk about it, just demonstrate, execute.  Bed in 26 mins, and even then, I’ll be struggling to make up for today, crawling to 1k.

No wine tonight.  Went to gym, bla bla bla…  Not worth writing.  What I am going to institute is a deadline.  One ferociously firm.  Between now and Friday, there will be three stand alone pieces written.  All meant for submission.  1000+ words.  Fiction, Creative Non-Fiction.  The Bottled Ox, still in containment, because of his own ways.  It’s stopped.  Now.  As Mom said, “At this point, it’s all or nothing.” Like Katie instructed, “Don’t second-guess yourself.” And Dad, “Distractions are death to your goal.” Mr. Capote started with shorts, and, quite frankly, short works, Fiction and non, appear more conducive to my thought span, my relishing of moments brief, rushed.  That ever-invaluable consciousness spate the imbibes my lines.

Wine, my wine.  Well, Katie’s and mine, still going through ML.  Katie informed me that she did taste it, and it’s advancing well, deliciously.  She mentioned possibly changing the barrel, for the next six months of maturing.  I completely agree with my young professor, but would like to give it another taste before we do.  She’s incredibly busy, so I don’t know how I’ll be able to get into the facility, with her present, to make that happen.  Maybe she could leave a thief behind, and a glass.  I’ll text her tomorrow, see what she says.

Need to read more of this winemaking book Professor K bought me for xmas.  You know what, I’m putting it in my bag, now…  There, ready to study tomorrow, on my breaks, or between job duties.  Should probably get ready for bed, put this laptop into the ever-present-with-author black collegiate bag.  Is it collegiate, scholarly?  I don’t know, but it’s always with me.  And if people every wonder, “What’s he writing?” Or, “What’s he writing about?” They shouldn’t care.  It shouldn’t matter.  Just know that I’m ALWAYS writing, about everyone, everything.   But there needs to be projects, deadlines.  Fruition, somewhere.  Don’t worry, wonderers.  The stand-alone’s will speak, soon; see a publication’s selective sheets.