pleased, leave

Printing out yesterday’s four pages.  2208 words which do form a standalone stream of writing.  Is it my  best work?  Hard to say, as I don’t know what my “best” work would even be, now that I think about it.  8:23am, and no I’m not doing Starbucks this morning.  I won’t do it.  I’m refusing, as this new goal of buying a house, with an OFFICE for the writer, is ever-palpitating in my persona.  Dad’s counsel, “Cash, cold hard saving,” after I asked him what type of investment or financial strategy I should have if I want to purchase property.  Invest in the investment itself, is how I understood it.  So, each penny monitored.  Starting cash goal for Schwab1 acct: $1500.  Was going to be $1200, but I want to move quick.  Little Jack is shedding his littleness right in front of me, and I want him to have a standalone, unattached, free home.  No Stalinist HOA, no landlord, none of that.  So, on my desk right now, I see $0.21.  Even that doesn’t go unobserved.  Have to familiarize mySelf, as Dad also suggested, with real estate, land, properties in Santa Rosa, surrounding Sonoma County towns, cities.  Need to go make coffee.  Feeling a little tired, but motivated to cut that corporate board hoard coffee corral from my life.  And move into a house.  -8:30am


5:49pm.  Going over to Katie’s in a little less than an hour.  Waiting for phone to charge.  Was slow getting into role this A.M.  Tonight, doing more printing.  Want–no, NEED–a salable manuscript by this writing retreat’s end.  Just a little bit more to go, page-wise.  Tonight’ wine.. probably something Pinot, I’m entertaining.  Yes, has to be Burgundy.  Interesting today, the slow pace.  Allowed time to think, freely.  A crime, to some in this “industry.” Just kept thinking of my office, my eventual writing place, both in-home and annex.

Quiet in condo.  Not playing any music right now.  Need to get into winemaking meeting mode, for sis’ house.  Was going to taste my barrel today, but didn’t have chance, being set in reserve room.  Tomorrow, before I do anything, as I’m simply “TR” [tasting Room].  For some reason, the winemaking thoughts, aims, possibilities stress me out.  And I’m starting to see why.  It’s the waiting.  The patience that’s required in making wine.  As a writer, I sit, scribble, or type, and something can be salable, especially with my composition style.  With bottles, nothing such possible.  I’m learning to adjust, but I won’t lie, it’s difficult.

Met another writer in reserve Room today.  And I capitalize “room” now because of her.. she’s shown me new possibilities with plausible connectedness in that Room.  Either way, she too’s a Self-published penner.  Can’t wait to read her work.  Can barely wait for these screens, once-corked pages to offer at her eye.  This ms, this little chapbook I’m wrapping up, finished tonight.  No exceptions, excuses, evasions.. it’s DONE.

Leaving for Kate’s…

IMG_133610:44pm.  Just submitted final grades.  Celebrating official end to 1st semester in over a year, with Lagunitas IPA.  But 1-person jubilee, short-lived.  Two classes to prepare for.  And, getting more serious with these winemaking leaps, especially after speaking with Katie, literally the whole night–and I praise her patience with and support of me–regarding winemaking.  She taught me about relationship between wine color and pH, the oak vs yeast dilemma, debate.  And that I have to come up with a budget for 2013.  And I do, I know.  But she made me understand, I mean really appreciate the nature of budgeting as a winemaker.  And I really liked how when talking to me in hypothetical language, she would DIRECTLY refer to me as a winemaker.  “So, as a winemaker, Mike Madigan needs to think about how he…”, she’d begin.  Just made me feel like I was being taken seriously, by a professional winemaker.  She gave me an ’09 Crocker & Starr Cabernet Franc, an unexpected take-home gift.  No, I’m not opening it tonight, much I’d like.  What I do see mySelf having a glass of, and probably only 1, the Sonoma Coast Pinot, 2010.  Wait, it’s Friday night, I can have two, if a poets chooses.

Going to write in book, but I’m buzzing from my winemaking meeting, distracted altogether.  Have to focus, I’m sure Katie would agree, one Artist2other.  I like how she said that wines should, yes, reflect and represent “terroir,” but also the conditions of vintage, what the winemaker had to work with, work through, overcome, or simply encounter in her/his Creative process.  Have to go open this Pinot if I want any.  Already 10:56p.  This Room, my home office, a mess.  Feel enclosed.  Think I need a glass just to relax.

Pinot poured, now I dream of leisurely writing poetry.  Listening to music.  I did want to do another session like yesterday’s.  But that was 2200 words.  That took ALL day.  Tonight’s book effort, which I will print, has to be verse.  IT has to be musical.  This Pinot, so rich, somewhat maple’d, or carmelized.. gorgeous, sexy.

The wine I brought over to Katie’s tonight, the Kunde 2010 Red Dirt Red.  I also brought over the tech sheet, so we could appreciate it with knowledge of composition.  And maybe that was the wrong way to do it, now that I meditate on our proceedings.  But she didn’t say anything, so I guess it was fine.  And I didn’t notice any potential for disruption till now, so…  She said the American Oak was quite detectable, in its herbal, woody, wild overture.  But the fruit was clear, charismatic, varied and voluptuous.

IMG_1339Pulled up poetry doc.  That just sounds wrong, looks on on this screen.  “Poetry doc.” Poetry should be WRITTEN.  Not typed.  But I have to type it.  To sell.  Sounds licentious, if you ask me.  But what can I do.  Sometimes you have to compromise if you want to make a living from your Art, which Katie somewhat addressed 2nite.  This Pinot, telling me to abandon prose’s ship.  So, do I write in this newJournal, or type, as I should.  “Be good, Mike,” what I’m whispering 2Self.  But songwriters don’t type.  THEY WRITE.  Should go against compulsion, which is pushing me towards these little keys.  Jim Morrison didn’t have a blog, a laptop.  He scribbled.  He was a poet.  Everyday.  One real, one red with reverence.  So, I know what I’m doing.  Nothing printed, not 2nite.  I get to enjoy my Friday’s lateness.

called to cause, rest

targeted for sleep notes, impend

depth in dream, vulnerability.. worry.. Pinot glow


(1/4/13, Friday)