Won’t lie, I’m in no mood to write. So should I just stop, essentially calling in sick, to my Self? Or should I do as I advised to my students, and write through it? Too much required to sort it all out. Sipping an ’07 Cuvée, but it’s not helping. If anything, it slows me. So I should stop, yes. But it’s delicious. Like a bottled album, singing to cure its listener. Feel bad for it, as it tries so admirably. I’ll go along with its efforts, lie to it and say “I’m fine.” And I am fine, reader. I just need to let go of what’s troubling me. But I’m not sure what that is. Or do I.
It’s “the industry,” again. How these wine devils pull that carrot, amusing themselves in your struggle. But what if you stopped chase? What if you declared Autonomy, stopped telling yourSelf it was something you had to earn, work towards? People keep urging me to calm my writing, as it may hurt my opportunities in “the industry.” What if I’m just tired? At my age, and with a son whom I’d like to perceive me the same I see my father, I’ll take my chances. I’m secure in my paragraphs, in my poems, in my persona. Sick of the wine industry’s expectations for an Artist. And that includes dim-witted one-dimensional, glossy publications. I’m reactively expressive, not a mechanical wheel meant to write/repeat “facts” about a winery, hotel, spa, or wine country resort. Those too afraid to speak Self can satisfy such nonsense.
A couple small sips left of the ’07. Not sure how this one’s speaking to me, now. Spending too much time thinking about it, I think. Just looked at my word count log, here on the monster. Counting today, I’m 3 days behind. Should trash the doc, but I won’t. Only going to log- You know what, I am going to trash it. Counting words doesn’t finish standalone writings. Writing does. Staying in the chair does, refusing to leave the studio. Tomorrow’s challenge to Self: NO PROSE. ONLY POETRY/SONG/VERSE. The more cubist, the better. vinoLit, still in my bits…