sipped scene: frame sane

The Cabernet, musical, more so than last night’s Pinot throws.  Tonight, while bed writing, I might force mySelf to scribble solely in Kelly notes.  She’s my only character.  And, I was thinking at dinner, maybe I only need one championing character.  That’d be her.  It has to be.  She’s been with me since 2010.  But, I have to ask Self, alongside this ’08, “What does she want?  What would she do?” The thing about Kelly, she doesn’t think this much.  She just acts.  Creates.  Her curiosity, her commander.  I’ve been over this before, so no more exhaustion.  This wine, like a flavor cloud, aim with palate rain.

Had something else to say about today, at AV Winery…  Yes!  The racking of barrels, what I saw the production crew doing.  Incredibly organized, their method, processes.  And, for the writer, fascinating to watch.  Like moving entries, paragraphs, from one project to another.  And then back, after doing a read-through, finding the new placement doesn’t contribute any coherence, flavor.  So now, I’m thinking of all the entries in which I mention her.  Should I go backwards, do some collecting, then blend into a present project?  Or, just write in present.  Forward in forward.  Kelly would say, “Just move on, write from now.” I know that’s what she’s telling me to do.  Well, urging me to do.  She’s far too melodious to tell or order anything.  She’d sweetly suggest.

10:17pm.  Little Jack, asleep.  But then dancing unconsciously, only to suddenly freeze with shut eyes.  Funny to see, but fascinating.  Want one of my speaking assignments–on writing, wine, writing about wine, or writing while sipping wine…–to be in Maine.  Or Boston.  Want to visit colonial America.  Need more history in my days, in my Now.  The Cabernet’s telling me that patience will deliver wishes.  How does it know, this orating ’08?  Last night’s Pinot, joking at me, while tonight’s Bordeaux slaps me with sagacity.

Now in bed, realizing I may have to hop over to the desk to charge this little monster.  Haven’t picked up the Kerouac book in a couple days.  After I post to blog, I should read for a bit, take notes.  Re-immerse Self in scholastic habit.  Still no rain.  Only miss it when I don’t have to drive through its jabs.  Going to listen to some Wine Bar beats.  Thought: What if I didn’t get a mocha tomorrow morning?  How would that affect my character?  [Just thought of how many times I’ve misspelled “affect” as “effect,” and viced versas, on this blog, and the others, in other writings.  Unnerving now won’t mend any typos…]  I could make my own coffee here in castle.  But it won’t be the same.  Resolution: Only using change I find for mochas.  No cash, no debit swiping.

Also tomorrow: Type spoken word, song.  Want such pieces put to use, not just aging in my notebook like some forgotten wine in a stuffed-away barrel.  [3/28/12]