Tonight’s pour, stronger than I expected. It’s character, sophisticated, confident, commanding. Don’t really want to write that much, as I did plenty today. In the cube, at the café. Still reflecting over yesterday’s slice into my shell. Today, I was calm from rise, to commute, shift and Literary Lunch, to return home. And now, in front of the keys. Self-publishing, my FINAL resolution. But, no such funding available. So, all to these blogs. Both, their own “brands.” As much as I malign that word, concept. This is writing, wine. I’m not a commercial clone. Never will be. As Dad once said, I have too much Creativity in me. Another sip… Surprised at its flex, this many years past its birth. It is from Paso, though. A place where Cabernets can startle you with their strengthened stride.
Even the stand-alone pieces, up on this blog, till I can gather funds to print pages, spread them like BB’s activity. Miss teaching like I can’t even innumerate. Lecturing on Orwell’s work, dissecting those pages with my Solano sections. NVC, still not talking to me. And that’s fine. Obvious, within their structure, and spread agenda-smeared system, compiling insecurity. Lovely, I’ve moved on. Miss my students, though. From Napa, Solano, SRJC, SSU. Stanford, still radar’d. Sipping to those images, fantasies. Again.
Didn’t get to read much of my winemaking book today on my written lunch hour. But, I kept mySelf in ink. So many characters on that floor today. Think I saw Jewel writing, which surprised me, as I didn’t know she wrote. But can I be sure she was writing Creatively? She must have been, the way she sat in the nook of the coffee house, on that bench, legs extended, looking out at 1st Street’s eastbound expand from that palm-print clouded window.
Want to print some pages. But what would that do? Can’t afford to copy them, a manuscript’s worth. Frustrated. I want a bloody book out, already. You know what, I’m printing a page. Just one. 1. There. Decreed. That deserves a sip. Spicy licorice, blackberry. Tannins I’ve never experience before. This bottle, an experience, honestly. Would love to make a Cab like this, but Sonoma Valley can’t submit this character form to palates. Don’t think the climate permits. I could be wrong, though, mind you. Should have Katie taste this, see if she agrees. Maybe it’s this wine’s wise old age giving it such electricity. Should probably get ready for bed, pound the rest of this pour. Shame. Should never rush wine, but time is time; A cruel devil. 10:20p. Yes, need to get downstairs. Wagering a lot, I just realized, giving all to these techno-dependent “blogs”. Disgusted with Self, but I have to do it, given where I am in Life, what I want as a writer. Oh, have to print my one–1(!!!)–page.
[1/11/12 – W]