Unfortunately, no time for novel tonight. Sipping the remainder of the other night’s ’10 Pinot. Tomorrow, at winery for my wine. As busy as I was, as we were, did quite a bit of writing today– valuable notes for novel. Just checked, and I’m down to my final pages. The winemaking process, ever entrapping. The Pinot’s voice, a bit more persistent than I expected. As a winemaker, I want to be focused, not scattered as I am a writer. Yes, I know, that’s my style, and I embrace it. But the same doesn’t work for winemaking. Was thinking of a conversation I had on one of my tours a few months ago about brewing beer vs making wine. I told him I just started my winemaking journey, he then told me he’d been brewing for years. He said he didn’t have the patience for making wine, even though he wanted to, had wanted to. Thoughts of my novel ambitions, how I always wanted to compose that friendly, accepted, expected manuscript that’d sell. I don’t have the patience, just as he said. SO, I’m producing both, wine & Lit, my way. Not sure what put me in that conversational canal, but I’m back to roads normal. If anything, I need B more messy tonight, in this brief sitting.
The whole day, as I see, is poetry. Each character, all interactions, moments. Tomorrow, my Saturday. If readers want to know what I ultimately want, and maybe you already get this sense.. it’s poem, song. I want you to be “inspired” to write, much as I’m annoyed by that word. I’d rather you be MOVED to write, log your day, journal your vision, visions. Finding I’m more obsessed with writing what evolves in each shimmy of the second hand. But I know I can’t. And when I forget something, but know there’s something I should have written, I can’t scold Self over it. Learned to let those go. There’ll be others, more material. Another sip of this Pinot tells me I need to study more, every page I can find on producing wine. Not sure if I like when the wine’s talking for me, a “writer.”
lowering head to blank page
minus plus, another age
quite a mess the penman made