11/14/12. Long day, this Wednesday. My bloody Monday. Pressed Merlot, finally. going to top with Primitivo, tomorrow. Don’t even care if I spelled that right. Slow traffic in tasting Room. And even with that, I didn’t take one note. Maybe it’s better I didn’t. Maybe I was more benefited with just living, not scribbling a single character. Still with cough, and my iphone won’t charge–which is bothering me more than I’d like. This proves I’m more attached to technology than I need be. So this session, only 300 words, if that. More pen2paper, that’s what real writers do. Had one beer since my return from class, and I’m done. Not in the mood for the SB I brought home. Just want rest, retirement from this longest of long days. And that devilish device just HAS to do this to me. Fine. I just better not lose any of those pictures of Jack.
This mood won’t let me write. Will say that I’m more than pleased with tonight’s lecture. Brought it back to writing, as I intended, cited the 1000+ words I wrote for the syllabus, the “encouraging rant,” I call it in class, when I cite it. Looking at my pillows, fantasizing about sleep. Tomorrow morning, may be greeted by rain. Friday the drops’ll be here, in earnest. That’s when a writer writes. This writer, anyway. Tuesday night, my Literary solitude evening, here in castle, days away. Looking forward to that night as I’ll be able to print my rough draft, do some editing, prepare my pages for the drive to Monterey.
Closing door on day. Clocking out, thinking of my Merlot. Going to pull my notebook out of the work bag, put by bed. More pen2paper. Less tech. We [writers, especially the Literary] don’t need it.
My own diocese. A lone lion, me.
A cloned throne lies debris. Worded sheets
leaked to bleak beats.