from last night. On the hard wood floor of the Autumn Walk castle, collecting thoughts.. jotting ideas for the Friday meeting. Have to wake early tomorrow, to write more. And return to the novel, my toy truck.. I’m certain now that I as a writer am one of the shorter standalone– oh, which reminds me I need to type what I wrote yesterday, the dialogue driven short about the two teacher talking about tomorrow’s class, while drinking, talking about other possibilities– I can’t forget about this story! Please don’t let me!
Tired but not debilitatingly so. I’m hearing wind outside, and they predicted rain, the weather whores, but none likely to hit Sonoma. Someone in class tonight said it would hit north of us, like Redding or somewheres near.
More thoughts in my head, on wines, words, how people shape their words when talking about wine, in the tasting room or in another oeno-locale, and they’re always either so cautious or odiously turgid. I want my wine education, that I do through mmc, to be playful with words, but not remedial.. emphasizing the crEATive parts of language and how it intersects with wine and… and….. so much, and now I do think I’m too tired to deliver something cogent to readers, of any Literary order.
Yes, now I no sense make or mold for this momentary ms. Done. I’ll go to sleep thinking about the wine, and the world ahead of me with mmc.. and what I’ll do for these clients and myself as a client.. all the travel, the crEATivity.. the people and their business, and the crEATive selling.. oh this is most candidly a new ME.
my story my office my
everything I want, to be on page
with something else that I can’t see
but — I will