1/13/11. Here, at the home desk, just before bed, Friday night. No idea what to write. And yes, I’ll admit I’m a bit slow from that ’09 Pinot. But even still, my scribbling strut has stopped, stuck. Not much writing today, outside the cubeNOTES. Tomorrow morning, dedicating Self to mocha manuscripts. Turning on “Secret Window,” which I’ve watched more times than I want to truthfully tell. Has me thinking about sending off pages. But no, I’m a self-publisher. 2 blogs, taking me to away, free, to stapled serenity. This is completely Pinot talk. What else does it want to confess? (11:37p)
1/14/11. How is it mid-January, already? What’s that I tell you about time? Insensitive devil. Just uploaded two posts to 1Stop. Now, I get to play in the bottled auxiliary. This morning, quite cold. But gorgeous outside, kind sun. Listening to some Wine Bar beats to keep me motioned. The mocha, all but gone. Let’s see how many sips I’ve left… oh, none. Okay. Want to look into events coming up in the wine world. I’m almost positive there’s one next week, at Enkidu I believe. Could stop by on my way home. Love their Syrahs, Pinots.
Heard from Katie. She’ll leave a sample of our Cabernet at Mom and Dad’s on Monday. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I’m looking forward to revisit my inaugural winemaking project again. Miss it like a child in separations. As I remember, it could use a little more tannin, but I can’t be sure upon recollection. Need to read some of my winemaking book today, take some notes. Want to start getting ready early for the next harvest. With the rain lack we’ve been experiencing, I’m not sure when bud break could be, or if you can even gauge such this early. Where is my book? Downstairs… With it now in my grips, I realize I need to engage in meticulous study, note-taking, if 2012 is to my first solo winemaking vintage, one to vend.
Found the little black, quasi-leather-bound book I bought. Meant for winemaking diary-ing. Need to log weather, each day day. Short entries. This will be my log of progress, discovery. All steps to whoso cellars’ ignition.
Monday, Mocha’d Echo Flow
Wrote my notes for tonight’s post to 1Stop. Made my first sale yesterday, from blog. True, it was to a family friend. But still, a sale’s a sale. No holiday today, and I’m glad. My mind, staying sharp, fingers fast. I’m blocked, suddenly. Which is odd, considering I have my favorite seat here at Napa’s Roasting Co, and my mocha’s one of the more optimally balanced I’ve had in a while, balance of caffeinated contents and whip cream. Haven’t found a reading yet, to attend, perform. But then, I haven’t been looking as diligently as I should be. On the winemaking front, I believe Katie’s dropping off a sample of MKCS11, our Cab, tonight. Don’t know how much difference to expect, how much development, intensification of notes, since the last time I tasted.
Walking here, I saw a tourist couple pulled over, looking at a map. Made me think of my aims as a writer, a journalist. Finding stories, material, and traveling to the location to truly experience the story, have my pieces stand as credibly as possible. Yesterday, in Kaz’s tasting Room, had the best sequence of guests I’ve had in some time, and it went from about 1:30p till close to close. Two characters in particular, one from SF, female, and her friend visiting from CT, male. They told me how they often travel for work, how interstate movement is not uncommon, movement is necessary. I’m aware that some, maybe many, view consistent travel as cumbersome, a pure pain, but to writers, or at least this one, it would provide more material than my hands could handle. All from the terminal, to the flight, hotel, for what I was on location; and, most importantly, the characters. Need travel. My writing needs it. Short and long pieces, the spoken word, the screenwriting freewrite I started this morning at my desk.
Thinking of starting a file, or binder, of piece written for reading only, at readings. Not the blog, or any self-published manuscript through. Solely for speaker-audience interaction. Wine Bar beats into my over-caffeinated ears, they agree. Why does everything need a destination, a permanent plot? Why can’t it just be free, or momentary. I’ve asked mySelf this since grad school. Don’t think I’m any closer to an answer. Or maybe I just wrote it…
1:13p. Clocked out at 12:47p. My last punch, the same time, and it was still on the dry erase board. No erasing necessary. That spoke to me, as its own solitary symbol. No need for restarts with this writing. Keep with what’s already in place, practice and page, with page. The drive this morning, cold. Still having trouble feeling warm. Rain expected in the coming days. Apparently, a substantial swoop of winter descent. But, this could be the media hungry for more a story. Frustrating, how even the weather can be sensationalized. My written reports, nothing like. Trustworthy snapshots only, from my pen. Off to, or I should say BACK TO, the spoken word. Halfway through my mistress mocha. Shouldn’t have let her leave so speedily. Sad. Kelly would be too, probably. But she’d keep painting, throwing colors at her coddled canvas. She’d urge I the like enact.
[1/16/12 – M]