Two years ago, went barrel tasting.  Blogged the whole thing.  Can’t believe that mission with Jon was that long ago.  Time, enjoying another victory over me, obviously.  Kelly, telling me not to buy into time.. anything about it.

 

10:37pm, 3/13/13…  Particular palates just left.  Mom & Dad, that be.  And I’m  a bit affected by bottles poured, I won’t lie.  Sipping night’s cap.  Think I may be already a bit too curved, to slashed, forward.  Fighting in my stumblinh state to hit 300 words.  Maybe I do need a hit of this Lagunitas Ale.  Difficulty writinbg… so what uf I stipped…?  Not making any sense,, so I pause, watching film, … blsst this wine, making the night nine [mine]…  I’m a slave, it seems, to this artistry…

Impeded, by the wine. Kunde, St. Francis….  reporting on now.. just want to relax, not write–

***

12:27pm, 3/14/13.  Nothing more unattractive than a drunk woman, some say.  I say there’s nothing uglier than a drunk writer, then having to read his liquored lines.  Hate drunk writing, above.  I know, Mr. Hemingway said “Write drunk, edit sober,” but I want all these entries to be from Equilibrium.  And I was just thinking, while retrieving the laundry from the dryer, left there overnight [luckily, none of the mongrels in this complex removed it, threw it on that table like that one time..], that I need newness in the form of antithetical regularity.  Against compulsion, opposing habit, the usual.  So…  No wine.  No artisanal beer.  Not even so much as a sip.  Want to see how this changes my character.  Almost certain that this is what I need to do, in order to taste Kelly’s level of Artistic/Creative Autonomy.  I’ve always asked Self: “What is the one thing I need to do, that I’m not doing, to push me into ‘professional’ writerdom?” I think this is it.  And I’ve entertained going dry for some time, not because I have a problem, or think I have one.. just to see how I change, how much more I write.  But, this morning, I realized that this may be that bridge toll I’ve so long sought.

4 shot mocha this morning, thanks to Alice, to rid vessel of vino symptoms.  A little sparkling water as well.  Had my winemaker friends at the Estate taste both my wines.  They liked them both, thankfully.  Zach, the head winemaker for Kunde, said the blend [New Dad Cuvée] could possibly use a little Chardonnay to soften and fatten the mid-palate, but it’s too early to tell as the lees may be blocking some of the wine’s intended suggestion.

For 2013, I’m probably just going to do a Merlot.  Two barrels.  Simple, straightforward, specialized.  That’s how I want to be seen as a winemaking Artist: doing few things, but doing them well.  Should probably correlate that with my fiction.  But don’t I, already?

Spring break next week, for JC, thankfully.  But still, probably will take off for a couple hours, both Tuesday and Thursday of next week, to do some planning, assignment drafting.  And on the teaching topic, I may again assume multiple sections in Fall, if I have such opportunity.  No more than two, though.  Or should I try for 3?  Think of all the money I could save.. for the house, my writing, blogging business…  A little left in the 4 shotter, just reheated by Alice before she went upstairs for a quick nap.

Already at 400+ words.  Not sure what I can write about, other than I’m distancing mySelf from wine & fine beer to get my novel done; to have the career and Life I’ve always envisioned.  And with regard to drinking problems, as I above cited, mentioned: I WISH I had one!  Humor, a bit.. but alcoholics do seem to have quite the marketable story, struggle.  They’re always published!  Hemingway, Joyce, Poe, only to catalogue a couple.  I’m going to shove mySelf into this sober spectacle, to see what happens to a wine-loving writer/burgeoning winemaker when he’s no longer allowed [of his own volition] to have even a single sip.  I think this will put me more in Jack London’s shoes than ever.. becoming a true Barleycorn.

Someone whistling outside.  Annoying.  Yesterday, in tasting Room, met two bloggers from San Jose.  The nicest people I’ve met in quite a while.  Their blog, capturing their world travels.  I’ve never before been so envious while concurrently, even more so, impressed.  They went everywhere, it seems.  That’s what I want, for these pages, for my next book, the one after, and after.  That’s what the dryness will bring me.

Write sober.  Edit soberer.  Need more caffeine.  Would love a nap, mySelf.  But I have to leave rather soon.  I’ll try working at the coffee house, but it’s been bothering me lately– all the noise, chatter, passing people, especially when they bump one of my elbows.  But I also don’t want to rush to campus, even though Tuesday night, after my early dismissal, I had one of the best writings of my life.  Maybe I should go straight to campus.  That would be against habit.  I’ll get my 2nd mocha, then go to that isolating office.  And I’ll definitely need that second cup.  Oh, but I have to stop by the bank, Schwab, and deposit the check to start the house savings.  Can’t wait till we have a standalone home.  No HOA, no annoying whistling neighbors, nothing around us but our grounds.  And this new shift in MY character will get us this dwelling even quicker.  Tonight, when home, just a Coke with my late dinner.  Yes, it has caffeine, and that will probably charge me a little.  But that’s fine.  I need energy to write, right?  Right.

Want a typewriter.  Where do I get one around here?  Sick of this blasted laptop.  What is a laptop, anyway, but a distracting devil device.  Online, social media, shopping, music, movies…  I want to hear the old slapping keys.  Not these little square receptors, these pretty colors.  Remember a student in Fall ’09, at the Petaluma campus, an English 1A section for SRJC, called these laptops “pretty,” as I told the class I was about to buy an Apple.  I have no regrets in getting this little critter, but I want to be as much a writer as I can.  And this mechanism isn’t part of such paths.

Tempted to delete last night’s drunken delivery, more-than-tipsy types.  But I won’t.  I can’t, if I’m to be completely honest in my writing.  I don’t blame Mom & Dad, at all.  I do cite the wonderful conversations, however, they always bring to dinner.  I can think of no two people, no couple certainly, more motivating than my parents.  Mom, with her love, gentle insight, reflections.. Dad, with his profound knowledge bay, aviation experience, travels, money strategies; he’s the one who told me the best way to get your own house is just “cold hard cash, saving.” 1:13pm.  What if I could get out of here at 2, or a bit before.  That’d ensure progress on this book.

Again, DUE DATE: March 31, 2013.

LENGTH: 206 PAGES.  FULL PAGES.  No sheets with only one or a couple, or just a few, lines.  That’s cheating, I think.

So many notes from yesterday’s shift.  Fellow co-workers, guests.. goldmine, this winery.  This industry, really.  Wonder how people will react when they learn I’m not drinking, not even so much as a sip.  Or even a half-ounce taste.  Now with my wines, I will allow juice to prance on palate.. but I will spit.

Should get into mobility’s mode, soon.  But I’m so cozy on this couch.  Don’t want to move.  Have to use restroom.  But I’m so situated, and I just passed 1,000 words.

One of my notes from yesterday: “Arrogant wannabe photographer, ‘I’m an artist’, she said, adjusting something on her big, fancy device.” She was so snide, dismissive, vocally judgmental with our wines.  Who did she think she was, is?  I’m not saying photographers aren’t Artists, but…