Off to get mocha #2. Need it, for composition of this recommendation letter. But, I promised Self I wouldn’t leave the chair till 3:15pm. 24 minutes left. I could just brew some coffee downstairs, save some funds for the publishing. I’ll need it, that I know. Already have quite a bit in this home stash, atop what I put in the bank [which I’m only going to take out, maybe, to have close].
Think the rain stopped. Wish it would start again. Want to hear those little hits from roof. That helps spoken word composition. Thought the rain came back, but no. Not sure if I can stay in this bloody chair another however-many minutes. And the thought of ANYTHING with coffee.. more than I can handle. Just downstairs. Ugh, pained. Found more money in wallet, that I could use for publishing. Not a bad thing at all. Oh, I did get up just a second ago to throw away some of the rubbish on floor, to my left. Can’t stand filth, clutter. Especially as a writer. Or, the writer I am.
Running out of pen breath. Need coffee. Do I deserve a break yet? Time, 3:04p. Am I getting bored? Are writers allowed to get “bored” with their own thoughts?
4 minutes more. Then, caffeine. Thinking I will just have a cup, here in house… Just came across a note2Self on floor, from scrap pile, on a post-it: “winemaking note– whole cluster press on Syrah?” Should have gone by winery today, to check up on my Merlot. But I couldn’t. Had to come home to write. Had to finish my novel, which I did. Well, the rough rough rough draft anyway. May add a couple pages, but not many. And I know there’ll be a lot I’ll want to tweak, edit, rearrange. But that’s writing, I guess. That’s what I’ve been told.
3:53pm — COFFEE. Now I can do some real writing. Pen to paper, following this “post.” Should get back to my reading assignments. Plath, Kerouac. Rain, back, telling me to stay in the chair. Not sipping anything before tasting tonight. Pinot. At a loss, as to what to expect, what different character’s I’ll meet. Both inside bottle, out. And staring at this cash pile on my desk, I’m reminded that as a self-published–no, Self-PRINTED–scribe, I need to be in writer mode, always. Took away a couple valuable lines from today’s “training” session, on “responsible beverage.” Was it a waste of time? No. But I didn’t learn anything new. I know, “Mike, be careful what you put on your blog.” I’m just being candid, honest. My writing has to be honest, and I know that the wine industry, “the industry” as they call it as if it’s the only “industry” existing, wants me to Self-zipper, -muffle. But I can’t. I wouldn’t be alive then. Certainly not Mentally Alive. And after talking to all these winemakers, how they value their creations, I’m even further convinced I’m doing the right thing. 4ME.
Time to gear switch. Already feel more motivation for manuscripts meant. Beautiful. Knew this day2Self would be alive, beneficial to page. And that’s all I’m really concerned with.. PAGES, MY WRITING. Let the world know, what a writer’s about. Always recording. Nothing escapes. Even if I don’t use it immediately, it’s logged. Watch what I do to the box, when those notes are finally printed. It’ll change all worlds. Napa, Sonoma, everywhere. Plan on showing employees in all forums they have no reason to fear anyone, anything. That they should feel comfortable voicing thought, freely. They shouldn’t have to ask permission to speak, to be who they truly are. “Professionalism” may mean adjustment of Self, but not surrender, forfeit of certain fortitudes. Not me.