8/10/12. Sitting down for an entry, for the first time in days. The Kaz recital went well, I guess. Freestyled most of it. Don’t plan on writing much in book tonight, if at all. Need to focus on another pressing project [details of which I can’t yet divulge]. Last night’s movie event, much more calm than last week’s. Wine, speaking to me more than ever, with the cruel temperatures of today, yesterday. Tomorrow, supposed to be a bit more mild. And, 2nite, only sipping beer. Sierra Nevada’s Torpedo. My friend Arianna, the writer/blogger from L.A., did visit yesterday. We did a barrel tasting in the cave followed by pours at the main bar of smaller lot wines, not distributed. Today, met a small producer from Lodi, owning quite a bit of acreage, using only his own fruit for his production. Found it quite inspiring, to be honest. More than ever, I’m convinced that I’m starting whoso cellars, my label, that it’ll only prove to be writing as well as LIFE material. It’ll help me grow as a Human, start something for family; for Little Jack, should he choose to enter this fermented track.
6:49pm. Have quite a bit of notes in the little pages I plan on transferring to this log, later tonight. For right now, I just want to enjoy writing. Could last night, nor the night before. But this evening, after 1k’s on this screen, for bottledaux, my exposed pages.. I’m off to Comp Book efforts, rimed only. And I have to frank about another thing, wine’s provoking this rebellious poetic urge. Have to follow it. That’s what any writer would do. The last couple for which I poured today, right before 5, urged me to write a wine world murder mystery novel. “That would sell,” the wife said, husband looking at what remained of his pour, somewhat ashamed of his wife’s Literary consult. I just nodded. What else could I do? What else did I want to do, but get them out of the tasting Room, so I could enjoy a glass of the stainless SB with the crew. She had a friend who quit her job as a D.A. to write a novel, she told me. They all laughed at her move, only to find it got picked up less than a year later by some house on the east coast, or in Florida where they live–no, must have been NY, but I didn’t ask. Now, this former lawyer, now Grisham-y commercial pen pupil travels around the world. I won’t lie, I found it valuable, not just for this entry, but for vision, impetus if you would. What irked me, not that I was truly bothered, or offended, was that she told me to abandon the material I do write, heart-honed lines, for something that would “sell.” The antithesis discussion to what I addressed with Ohio Bob, yesterday. Interesting. Everyone who doesn’t write knows what writers should write. That must be nice to hold such VALUABLE knowledge.
Already over 500 words. Must have needed a session. And I did. I should have planned better, though. I should have, could have risen early yesterday, day b4. Now, on couch with Little Jack. He watches me type, like I’m doing something abnormal. Maybe I am, I realize. Why DO I write so much? The speed with which this little character grows alarms and motivates me. Tomorrow in tasting Room, sure to be frantic. Good, need more character notes. One line from last night, at St. Francis, “I think I’m a member here…” a lady said, looking down at the menu prices. It was quite obvious to me what was on here mind. Lower prices. Wine club pricing. But what I found even more interesting, is that she emphasized “wine club,” like that would immediately make us balk, bow. And if she was a club member, how could she forget? Wine club has always been a funny thing to me. When I DO open whoso cellars, officially, I will have a club, I’ll admit. But I will keep in even in manner, practice. I don’t believe in excess catering, compromising dealings.
9:04pm. Waking early tomorrow, to write, plan “project R.” I know, “Just tell us already, Mike.” I can’t. Not yet. But this is the transitional project, taking me to where I’ve always wanted to be, buying me that first plane ticket. Learned today, from my sister [via text] that this harsh weather WILL cause vines to slow energy production to their clusters. Love the wine when it’s still out in the vineyard. More and more, I find it less interesting when it’s bottled; just consumed, dismissed.
Need more poems like the one I scribbled this morning. Or should I focus more on the capture of dialogue? So many visitors, yesterday, today, using the phrase “tanin-y.” One lady said that she loves reds, but not ones with “tannin dust.” I swear, I almost laughed, right there, at her face, her mouth–that mouth that just said “tannin dust.” Oh, and a guy yesterday saying to me, “You need to change the name of this Sauvignon Blanc, it’s weird,” referring to our “Block SB.” I didn’t have any idea how to react to such an idiotic statement. I didn’t even nod, at this outspoken New Jersey clown. I just stood there, poured more. Another guy, from New York, said after sipping the dessert cuvée, “That is a strange little beverage.” He liked it, praising it till he finally left. I just thought it was interesting he phrased it with such word choice. He was an ex-attorney for the government. Think he said he worked for the attorney general, if I remember right.
One more Torpedo, my night’s cap. Tomorrow’s sure 2B crazy. Waking early, to get the writing out of the way. Well, not “out of the way,” like I won’t write more when I return home. Just hit some objective before I leave to punch in. Or, finger swipe in. Yes, my finger print is read to initiate shift, by some Orwellian scanner. I think it’s somewhat refreshing, theatrically sci-fi, or something. I like it. It’s useful for pages, I think… Must be, as I just it recorded.
I’m already over 1,000 words.. HOW? Need to plan sessions. No, that would be completely against my form. project R, now in sight. First project I’ll touch when I wake. Am I ready for this? Incredibly. In fact, there’s something I could do right now before I post this sitting. Want to be back on stage. Think the next Kaz reading’s at month’s end.