[b]log, 4/10/13

Revisiting Chardonnay.  Air-conditioner, on.  Felt like Summer today.  Loved all minutes.  Would have loved them more had the writer been outside.  Put 1,000 new words into book.  Afraid to sip from glass, don’t want it gone too quick.  And yes, my pattern is still of slow sip.  Thinking of Gatsby, Nick’s character.  What I want to be on Saturday night: FULL observation.  And I’m not out to instigate, like Nick, or sabotage.  Just OBSERVE.  I may have a glass of wine, or two.  But SLOWly.  May have a couple cups of coffee, where I can.  Or a Coke.  Or water.  Need my writer wits about my ways.  Books depend on my Equilibrium that night.  I look forward to it for the material it’s set to provide, for this first book.  The story builds, becomes more linear, consistent, valuable.  And dare a writer say: marketable.

Still upset over that lost verse on phone the other day.  Well, yesterday.  I think.  See?  Time’s flying by this penner so fast I don’t even know where I stand.  Mom’s 63rd birthday, 4 days.  Mine, 19 days, 1 month.  And I’ll be 34.  HOW?  this angers me.  Frightens me.  I know I talk tough to time, but it does scare me.

Looking at this Chardonnay glass.  Thinking of its character.  Definitely more deliberate than other Chards.  More care, more precision, more Art.  And just what I need in this hot condo.  Well, it’s hot down here.  Hope Kerouac’s comfortable up there, not too hot.  Can’t hear him, so I deduce all’s fine for him.  10:42pm, 11 o’clock news approaches.  Not looking that much forward to its sequencing.  The suspense it spews, condescending, predictable.

Wrote in first blog entry ever [2009], titled “First Entry,” that “I hate the word blog, to be honest. Why? It robs the writing of literary merit, to a degree. I can still push these words into a chapbook. Have run a few errands. Hate that word too…” Chapbook, if I can say now, I hate as a word.  Why can’t a writer, any writer, just write a bloody BOOK?  No modification, obscurity.  Just.  A.  Book.

Self-published, of course.

Only a little more Chardonnay.  On writer’s retreat, this weekend, I may just, would, open another one of Katie’s bottles.  Should probably stop by winery on way to Mom and Dad’s, on Friday, get a couple bottles.  Not just of this Chard, but that Merlot that I like, and maybe the Claret.  And Meritage.  Cab.  Maybe even on their dozen Zins.