Reading through what I can of these pages as they fly from the machine. Love how wine stays present in her pages. Thought about this moment while at Kaz’s today. And, how I need to, as an Indi Writer, imitate Kaz’s decisional patterns–releasing what he wants, when he wants, how he wants. All Art should be that way, shouldn’t it? Isn’t that part of what makes it Art?
And, just my luck, this bloody mechanism runs out of what I need it most to contain. INK. Need a deep sip of this Pinot, as tomorrow morning’s read’ll have to start on the Computer’s screen, as the ink doesn’t really help deliver the print’s characters till page 10 or so. So frustrating. Sipping…
Still unnerved. Can I afford an ink cartridge? Do I need to take that out of my publishing budget? Well, yes, author. That’s what a budget’s for, my publishing side says to the Artistic half. This Pinot must be mad as well. It’s acting like it is. Think the printer angered it. Hopefully not me. Where’s the rain? Our vineyards need more, that’s for sure. This harvest, 2012, will only be my 2nd, and I’m already a nervous wreck. Kaz and I talked about our joint project this year, and what we might use in terms of an oak nudge. Don’t plan on using anything more than adjuncts, or small collections of chips. Either way, Cabernet is still my vision. Where the fruit will come from, no idea. Still need to address that. Hoping the Sonoma Valley vineyard that he uses. Made a list of varietals I’d like to make along my lifelong winemaking journey. Among the characters: Pinot, Cab (of course), Merlot, Petite Sirah, Tempranillo, Alicante Bouschet… Don’t want to aim for too wide a stretch, but I also fear dreadfully limiting mySelf, so I won’t.
Now the Pinot’s giving me a coffee note on the nose, and a skipping herbal swing on the palate. Maybe she’s waking. Could use another pour after this ordeal with my printer. Ugh, already having to dip into my publishing company’s very limited budget angers me. Maybe Dad’ll let me use his printer, save me the $20-something at Office Depot. That would help. And I know he’ll help. He always has, my Philosophy major colleague. Little Kerouac rests downstairs with his mother. As soon as I came home, he had sounds to share. Maybe he had an idea for the project, for my publishing label. Feel he’d say, “Buy the ink, dad. You have to, as the publisher. That’s what makes you a ‘publisher’. It’s in your job description.” He’s right. Thank you, little sir.