Propeller Basket Leave

Tonight’s routine.. blog then book.  Did manage to sew a few notes before shift, sipping the 4shot mocha, looking out at a green field being assaulted by random September rain.  Tonight’s varietal, Pinot.  Wasn’t foreseeing, at any point, my picking of this bottle.  Vintage, 2011, Russian River.  Don’t feel like giving the winery a plug.  First sip.. surprisingly heavy.  Like my thinking.  May be tired from yesterday, blended with today.  Have decaf in cue, after glass.  Or ‘glasses’, if I have one more.  Had an idea today, actually 2: 1) start file of “New Standalones,” all prose pieces, and 2) start a short story hustle.. self-publishing collections while sending them out.. become a master of the short story.  Would rather be so, much more than a bloody “novelist.”

Had short discussion with Blair today, about the Merlot I’ll be making this vintage.  “Okay, but you’re doin’ this one all on your own,” he said.  Partially, I was spooked.  Then the other, much louder, excited.  After that, met a couple people sharing a kinship with my world, the Literary.  Much catharsis, needed.  And I haven’t started reading, or re-reading ‘Glass Castle’ by Jeannette Walls, yet.  If I wasn’t at the bloody winery 40+ hours a week, I’d be at a desk, weeks all, each hour.  Reading, writing/responding.. student again.

Just decided, I’m not starting another “doc” on this devil laptop.  I’ll write everything in newJournal.  The black & white Comp Book, retired.  Looking at little pages, only writing 1 line today, with sane reason.  Can’t share it here, much I’d like.  Sorry, reader.  Another Pinot glass.  Thinking of some remarks I heard today, about people wanting sweeter wines.  “It’s okay,” the lady said, spilling the Chard into the ceramic bucket, “but do you have sweeter wines?  I like my wine sweeter, ya ‘now?” I could tell she was from Texas, or Arkansas (to which we can’t ship), or Mississippi.  Somewhere South.

Going to load decaf, prep tomorrow morning’s coffee– oh, I don’t need to, as Alice bought me some new k-cups, medium roast, which doesn’t jolt me as roughly as darker roasts, like the French.  A calm fueling [preferable], rather that one rushes, panicked, leading to more panic.  Thank you, Ms. Alice.

Enterprising hoopla.  Maybe that’s my genre.  Just started another short.  Poured last Pinot glass.  I like the wine, but it’s not a Pinot, to me.  Too heavy, too thick.  Doesn’t bring the elegant nature that Pinot promises.  Typewriters–

Need one, for my new form.  Truly Literary.  Ms. Alice, in other Room, enjoying her show.  Me, I have to stay far from TV.  Disregard it.  Pretend I’m in Poe’s day.  Reading “Hysteria” by Eliot, for the first time since…  Done with Pinot.  Good.  Don’t want any more wine this eve.  In fact, that decaf would prove bright at moment current.  But I just sat, into this cushion, comfortable.  Why does the writer always have to move?  9:43pm.. not a lot of thinking time.

Hate typing on this


so removed from create.

Coffee, why me

wait?  Finish my story.

So easy.