12:10am. Finally got around to buying “On the Road” by the actual Kerouac. It’s right next to me, atop the comforter, next to the Comp Book, but I doubt I’ll skim even a single sliver of his ms. Far too tired. Posted some poetry tonight to bottledaux, then wrote a little more. And only a little. Now that I’m in the next day, March’s 24th, I’m aiming to gain premature launch. Pouring tomorrow at St. Francis. No barrel tasting weekend, but I’m sure I’ll have a share of characters. Still thinking about my 2nd tour yesterday at Lancaster, that lady’s remarks on the wines tasted. If anything, it’s a testament not only to the terroir in that corner of AV, but as well the winemaker’s handle of it. His confidence with what’s before him, with what he has to perform. So then, in all these wined whirlwinds, I think of the writing, my writing, my projects, these paginated vintages. Stop wishing for what’s not on your in your toolset, and create with what’s now there. Makes sense. How else would Kelly have become so successful, so quickly?
Should probably put on some Wine Beats, low-volumed… Much better. Can barely hear the current track, but my typing responds to what’s audible. Rain expected tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll be sent home early. Only I won’t go straight to base. I’ll spend a couple hours at 12 & Mission, building material. For the blog, yes, but also for me. Only problem I see with this “blog,” is the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ element. Not like I can tangibly turn pages to reference past thoughts. I have access to the site; scroll, click, what have with what’s digitized. Even if I simply jump into the word doc here on the little monster laptop, no page turning. This stops tomorrow–I mean, today. Going to print all entries, like Updike did his 3 daily pages. And I’m not just saying I’m going to do this, I will. I have to. Less virtual, more actual, appreciable.
Before reading this novel, I think of my road trips, those approaching. Can’t wait to have crowds waiting for me, taking their questions at conferences, sipping that wine and writing in my hotel Room. Sure, I’d probably be invited to some fete, somewhere, to discuss art, music, writing, wine, like those scenes in Capote where he’d be talking about his current project, or telling jokes. But I’d stay in, as I couldn’t stomach wasting opportunity to capitalize Creatively on quiet. Building my mss. Just as Mr. Shakur locked himself in the studio after his release from prison, I’ll always use my liberties optimally, wisely, in sequestered Literary. Imagine what travel diaries would do for me…
Rain, are you coming? Kelly would be doing just what I am now. Working. Is she awake, though? She may be asleep, as her projects have been moving her incredibly often. I’ll admit, I’m a little adumbral in my notice of her fame. But I can’t help but be smile with my character, right? Topic next: Sleep, this book assignment; me, my responses as I read; tomorrow’s wines, my notes, new characters. Prostrate in thought. Clocking out, hoping for more pages to print. Morning coffee’ll help. Thanks, Cabernet.