Grandma said. But before our visit, I was on a mountaintop tour, bringing with it a proposal, hidden photographers when we arrived. Someone drove them up before hand. Than young man’s speech to his future bride.. heartfelt, with depth, intent, surrounding softness. His soon-2-B wifed queen, genuinely surprised, atear.
Another event from day that gripped me.. a former coworker returning to tasting Room, while I was on Mountain, dropping off a short story he wrote, soliciting my critique, or opinion, or reaction. Don’t even know what to say, other than I’m humbled, motivated, a bit concerned.. if I’m worthy of such beckoning. I’ll give it read 1 tonight. Sipping some ’08 Syrah I brought home yesterday. Still quite full of life, hopping all over palate with that volcanic chalkiness I’ve always loved.
Final event of note from day: friend Kate, owning her own marketing firm, stopping by for a tasting. Made my day, really, having a friend come in, that I could just pour for, not have to recite any scripts, didn’t have to “pitch”.. just talked to her, about wine, what I thought, what she might encounter. Hope she enjoyed.
The Syrah, slowing me a little. Grandma, on my visit, telling me this life is mine, that I decide direction. Can’t remember what motivated her comment– oh yes I do.. when I told her I wasn’t teaching over summer, that I wanted to but I also wanted to spend more time with Kerouac. She simply told me the power is in my hands, that I orchestrate the tonality of result. Can’t stop thinking about our conversation. Was surprised how calm she was, how at peace she sat, there with her enclosure, which was rather cozy, clean.
Found a post-it in bag this morning, or rather Jack did, reading “-Lisa getting info from A… -Last note to Emma at winery. Want to get out of here…” Easily, I can tell this was written while at box. I’m choosing that the books need to be out, now. Again, tonight, another semi-finalized 10 pages. No time to excessively edit. Already finding pieces to rack, new ones [written in past] to type. Poetry, my key, definitively–
Left shin, hurting a bit from yesterday’s walk/jog with co-worker, here in Bennet Valley, up into hills. Felt guilty about not running tonight. Tomorrow, after work, I’m dashing. Not doing the Lawndale piece, but I will run significantly. More than likely along Summerfield, into Howarth Park, into Annadel’s depths. Just realized, tomorrow’s my actual Friday. Two off days, rowed. When was the last time that happened to this writer?
Know I state this is “another Literary wine blog from mike madigan …”. But really, if someone WERE to pin me and ask, a-bloody-gain, “What do you write about?” I’d have to answer, “Life.” Wine is just an ingredient, sometimes. At best. I drink wine, I don’t write, certainly don’t LIVE, by it. Just racked the verse I wrote the other day, on the 30th [May] into book.
Just reading, more so skimming, entry written precisely 1 year ago today. Same patterns, which isn’t pulling towards ocean floor. See only as boost, to spheres. But I’m sick of this laptop. Going to search for Comp Book pieces to rack, tomorrow. Can’t break from the 113 pg target. And I won’t. This 2nd racking, the last. I will print this doc before 6/30. Discussion ended. Actually, just remembered where some old poems were. This is like archeology, with my own work. Going to pour another Syrah, more for celebration. Doing so at this late hour, as it’s MY Life, MY decision. sip, sip–
Jim, the former co-worker, submitting his piece to me, lets me know that I’m behind. Enough of this blogging– I need be printing, having something submission-ready, not that I plan on “submitting.” But he has a standalone manuscript. Calming, calming. Still haven’t poured Syrah glass, yet. Just read the first couple paragraphs, nearly the first page, and yes I’ve decreed: this blog dies, soon. Execution date not yet set, but it’ll here be soon, within a couple years. Need something I can HAND to someone.. not some devil web address, a “url.” Just decided I’m changing, tonight. Seriously, this time. And so you know, reader, the book, my work, will be raw, maybe even sloppy, incomprehensible. But I don’t care. I want my work to capture how I think, what I see, how short my attention is… the momentary nature of my nomenclature.
Feel Self getting into Spoken Word’s mode, diode– I know, then just leave, take a needed reprieve– Okay, stop. TV, muted. My usual evening custom. Wrote “tradition,” originally, but changed. All these people, chasing employers. Caught mySelf saying to Grandma, today, “My employer…” Hate how it sounded. NOTE: I have NO skirmish, qualms or gripes with the winery, it’s just hard for me, one with Autonomous entrepreneurial aims, to concede that I’m employed by outside body, dependent upon THEIR pay.
Now, I’m only colluding compositional carrion. Poured Self another glass, evening’s last. Need Wine Bar beats to relax me. Tomorrow’s run, to music, I’ll try. But I prefer be alert to all around the writer. Like with Jill, yesterday, walking up Woodview, seeing the mama dear, her babies, then the formidable buck around corner. If I have phones, miniaturized speakers into my ear drums stuffed, then I’m partially dead.
Already on pg 112 of this new bx doc. If I wrote my books with mirroring inertia, I’d already be in office, in New York.. back in my city [Paris].
Why don’t I just follow this pattern on Book– stop, you’ve addressed this before. Go get a glass of wine. Get a grip, take a sip… 12/17/99, remember writing about that, the last party we had before xmas break, SSU. Listening to “6 Underground,” Sneaker Pimps, on Pandora. Made me think of that night, how oddly it all unfolded. Those days, in dorm– or, apartment, more memorable than most moments in my existential mold, manuscript. Relaxed, finally. Soon as I get off these buttons, I’ll be all more Equaled. Tomorrow’s run, definitely up to park, towards Spring Lake.
All this “racking” with my writings, too complicated. Closing all docs. Not even posting to blog tonight. Just going to write, till bed’s calling time.
Write for book first, then blog. In order of priority. Again, not sure why I didn’t think of this before.