About to upload a picture, maybe a couple actually, I took a couple the other morning during the Chardonnay pick. Just had a recollection, for reasons unknown and entirely unexpected, of the older man from Tennessee telling me, after I offered him a pour of Chardonnay, “Well most men I know don’t drink white wine, so give me red, only red.” He was one of, if I remember right, 68 elders from around the country. All were sweet, excited, interested, and relaxed. Most were, this character being one of only three exceptions. Today, had another like-instance, a man from Delaware [Delaware!], lecturing me on the merits of California wines, saying I shouldn’t be pouring an ’08 Zin before an ’08 Syrah. But after I poured, he recognized our/MY merits, methodologies. This annoying role, a lawyer for a huge corporation [which he retold at least three times], Harvard graduate. He let me know that he knew everything about everything– from wine, to religion, to politics, to local government, to driving laws, to landscaping, to napkin etiquette at a bar. Not sure what I can do with this tasting Room character, but there.. he’s been trapped.
Know I should be typing in my book fantasy, but I just want to write freely. That’s one qualm I have with the whole notion of a “book.” There has to be a plan. It’s a project. I’m still going to write one, but as I sit here typing to this Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA, I think that may something holding me back from Self-publishing a work. Again, I hear Kelly. Telling me to just put it out there, see what happens. Her blog, far more “followers” than mine. She’s a true Artist, much more interesting, with all her travels, all the shows surrounding her suavely shaded wine glass, with their multicolored voices. And her paintings, the sketches and random drawings, pulling eyes, lives, into their subtle soul scrapes.
The idea of finishing a book outside these logs, tonight me taunts. Not going to brainstorm, as I suggest to my students. Just going to write.. And yes, use much of the writing I’ve accumulated over years. From that cursed plastic coffin upstairs in my closet, as well as from mikeslognoblog.. my notebooks, among places additional. All those notes I rushed while in the box, in the devilish incubator, being indefinitely “trained” by one of the most brainless ditzes I’ve ever had the ill fortune of meeting. Again, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that office.
It’s day is coming.
May be filming, shooting stills next week at 3:30am. Well, that’s when I should arrive. But I talked to the vineyard manager today, and he said it’d be fine if I show at 4am. Have always wanted to witness a night pick. Yes, I know that’s technically morning, but it’s night to most, as most are still in sleep deep. Speaking of dormancy, I dreamt of reciting, last night, or early this morning. I was in a jazz club, in Miami.. speaking words spoken to interested ears, eyes, minds. Not sure what 2do with the echoing images. But write. 2nite. Posting, posting.. not writing. That’s what this Comp Book’s for. It’ll take me to my own office, to my travels.. to that hotel Room, that random bottle of red.
9/15/12 — Little Kerouac, 7 months old today. And me, still chipping away at that novel, with this ’09 Cabernet in an annoyed glass. Just wrote 300 words in a book, a NOVEL, idea. Not calling it a project, ‘cause it’s not. Wrote some lines while waiting for takeout from Mary’s. Busier than busy today, with the whole “Crush Celebration.” Two big tours, which brought sales & wine clubs, and more importantly tips for my publishing fund. Think I may be at $300. Have to put that in an envelope. Locking it away, disposing of key. And me, only seeing poetry.. the stage, people reciting my words back to the writer.
10:54pm. Need another sip of this Cab, see what it says. My wines, those I’ll produce independently, will speak for themselves. Not even sure I’ll fulfill the role of shepherd, but I’ll guide it, best I’m able, to its eventual bottle. This Tuesday, when with the winemaking team, I’m hoping to just follow, take notes, pictures, observe in silence, gather material, become a maker of wine through others actions, influences. Thinking I’m using commas incorrectly, altogether. What kind of a writer/professor am I? Definitely one who loves his wine, that’s been cemented in these “posts,” if anything.
11:01pm. Can’t get over this Cabernet– its voice, song, palate swiftness. Need to touch base with a couple winemaking contacts, see what I can pick up. Want to be the consummate consumer, like I tell guests, but I need to be one who truly knows wine– has a relationship with it.. MAKES IT. Tomorrow, taking winemaking steps. Calling Kaz, Katie, and maybe some other oeno-characters. My wine needs to be made, just as I so immediately share my moments, repetitive rants on this “blog,” I need my varietal translations out there. And I HAVE to write about it. WINE, my relationship.. my LOVE AFFAIR with it. While I sip.