Wine WriteMaking

Tomorrow, event at AV Winery.  “Taste of Alexander Valley,” you can bet I’ll have my camera equipment on person.  More interested in video, than stills, for some reason.  Did a beer tasting at work, one I’ve never before sipped, with three coworkers–Drew, Beth, David.  Now, sipping ’09 Merlot (8% Petite Sirah, 3% Cab blended in).  All day today, in winemaker mind.  I also reasoned, that if I never set foot in a classRoom again, in exchange for a life of Art, Creating, Winemaking, I’m more than at peace with such settlement.

Did one tour today.  Two people, father & daughter.  Just to hear how they spoke of wine, how the father enumerated memories of dinners with wine, how his daughter is just getting connected with wined moments, made me even more convinced that I need to make wine, just as I want people moved by pages I write.  Speak with terroir; Through it, within it…  I need to write that Something, whatever shape it’s to take.  And produce that bottle of wine, whether raw or “refined.”

Right when I got home, returned to a verse in the Comp Book that I began over a month ago.  Actually, just three days under a month ago, today.  The blog, starting to fade in visits and views.  How do I remedy this?  Tomorrow could be a prime opportunity for exposure, gaining new readership.  You know what, I’m not planning, not right now.  This moment’s for writing.  And sipping this ’09.  Funny, noticing notes I didn’t in my last visit.  Definitely more blueberry, more espresso, dark chocolate, and damp thick soil.  Tonight’s profile, more enigmatic than the last.  Not to say I necessarily like it better, just more colorfully cryptic.  More mystery, I guess I’d say.  Thinking I should blend some Merlot into my eventual Syrah, less than 10%.  But I’d have to consort with Kaz, or Katie, just to be sure my ambition’s not getting upper-hands on reasoning.


Had a dream last night that I wanted to write a novel, some book that would change everything, that would bring me Autonomy, but I couldn’t focus to the point of even beginning.  Couldn’t even write the first word, just kept meandering scene to scene, watching other live.  Remember waking, feeling it wasn’t much of a dream at all.  Why have I not finished a book, yet?  Why am I not writing for a living?  I mean, is it a confidence issue?  Is it an attention issue?  A blend of both?  Whatever it is, it’s stopping now, tonight, with this sip.  IT has to.  Not going to try writing like other authors, muddy mimicry, just going to commit to a page amount.  My writing’s randomly streamed, seamed; various pieces whimsically teamed.  I’ll do that till I reach my page amount.  Page amount?  That’s not me.  Certainly not Literary.  “What’s you book about?” I can just hear people asking.  How do I respond?  What kind of book is it?  A novel?  I guess…  Written the same way songwriters compose on buses.  How poets write lines while waiting in coffee shop or DMV lines.

Meeting in Kenwood tomorrow, 8:30am.  Don’t have to show for tomorrow’s event till 1p.  Thinking of how to manage my time.  Also deliberating on how to finish a couple spoken word pieces.  I think it’s admirably demented how much I think about writing, my projects.  Need to think and concentrate more on winemaking, offer written response to my research, what I learn, new ideas.  This Merlot, telling me to defy everything in way of expectation, regulation, standardization.  It also, only in the last sip,  whispers a coy caramel coo.  With my biz stash, injected into my credit card balance, I have to start over.  Especially if I’m to buy that Sauvignon Blanc fruit from Kaz.  And where I’ll get funding for this vintage’s wine with Katie, no idea.  Maybe I won’t need any.  St. Francis was humblingly supportive with our ’11 effort.  Maybe the same’ll be true this, so far dream-like, vintage.

(5/17/12, Thursday)