The table moves, even with my wallet under one of the legs.  Sipping sparkling we opened last night, for Alice to sip, before our jaunt to John Ash.  I sip in celebration of this book’s second half’s beginning, tomorrow.  And yes, I will be sprinting to the library right after English 5, and probably English 100.  Want to write around other students, not self-promoting full-timers, or even other adjuncts.  Students are pursuers, or many of them are, and that’s what I want around me, character-wise.

Need a rough plan for tomorrow morning’s ‘5’ session.. so:  part 1– In Woolf’s Life; the non-fiction realm.. the realm.  Part 2– Your initial reaction as the reader in 2014; what did you think?  What characters provoke the most reaction from you?  Part 3– Where can we go with these ideas, especially if we focus on the element of stability in this narrator’s life?  Where can we go with it, meaning ‘what sense can we make’?  Part 4– Predictions and expectations.. going forward.  What do we want as readers?  What can we logically predict?


As far as today’s concerned.. the same story.  It’s like my shift’s are duplicates of each other.  It’s a recycled story.  Two mountaintop tours, only one bottle sold between both.  I can only laugh.  I never claimed to be some master bottle mover.  Want another glass.  And tomorrow will be something worth celebrating, so I feel quite equal in these preliminary sips.

Beautiful around the estate today.  Took a couple pictures from the mountain’s top with my phone.  Need a wine mission, somewhere.. like a return to France, Burgundy.  Or, to Argentina.  Or Chile.  Somewhere.  In pursuit of wine, what it does, how it contributes to character interaction, development.  Today, nowhere near as frantic as yester’.  But still quite a motion.  Enough to make me look at the clock, sip a couple glasses of ’12 SB, early.


So nice to have little Kerouac home.  And that’s all the inspiration I need, especially after taking a quick detour to Sam’s house on the way home.  Finally had a chance to sip my beer– or, the beer Sam taught me to make.  Not sure how much a hand I had.  It was amazing, to be modest.  Sam even declared it’s one of the best-tasting beers he’s ever made.  But where I wanted to go with this reflection, the view from his backyard, while he gave us a tour of his garden– the sight of the mountains, from that expansive lawn, that one house we saw in the mountains.  Precisely what I want for my family, and these words will get me just that.  The peace I felt in that, in that garden, right where Same grows his hops, for some of this beer projects, lectured me in the span of not even a full minute.  I want removal, I want safety, I want the visuals that will write my novels.


Mike poured himself another glass.  Didn’t write a thing.  He knew he shouldn’t.  Collection–  Of Self.  That sparkling spoke to him, turned the room into a basket of bravado.  And stopping, not one of the moment’s choices.  So the fingers again began became mobile about the keys.  And those bubbles, in register, lovingly aided.