And I have to applaud myself for working/writing myself out of a mood which was generated by my email getting hacked, some dimwit sending out a letter saying I was in fucking Turkey.. and needed money. That, and I have grading for Summer to do, then planning for Fall, then the pick tonight at Old Camp. But I calm, as it’ll all get done, I know. I have managed to clear my desk a bit– oh, just remembered I need to charge my cameras, phone.. everything before the launch tonight. No run today, as I have written on my calendar. Thought about taking a nap, and that probably would help but I wouldn’t be working– have to stay working and writing. Have notes typed up for meeting with Chelsea tomorrow.. need to designate notebooks for classes, and don’t EVER overlap. Simple, simplified.. less is better.
Alice to bring home lunch in a bit.. not much more I can due right now but rightly write freely here at the desk, in the home study. I now truly embrace the idea of “nothing new”. No new projects, no new directions, no new anything– well, new clients I’ll take, but with a keen eye, careful and not at all with whim.
While at Costco with Alice this morning, I motioned to look at my phone and she told me not to, “Be free for a minute,” she said, then seconds later disclosing how she intentionally left hers at home, again emphasizing freedom. And she’s right. Why should this email hack bother me at all? AT. ALL.? Kerouac didn’t have email.. a phone.. neither did Hem, Plath.. I know I’m in the blogging arena, and that comes with emails and social media, and this goddamn laptop. But I don’t have to be chained. In my little black book of ideas for mikemadigancrEATive I jot: “plan for tomorrow”, “less is better”, and “nothing new less you have to”.
Enjoying some music here in the study.. go plug in battery/charger for camera.. done. Mind swirling and I’m having trouble stopping it, which I suppose is a benefit, a boon for me as a business owner, right? Thinking the content tonight should be 50/50, video and still, but I’ll see. I have to feel the scene and see what the story tells me to do. Words come first. I’ll bring my little notebook but I doubt I’ll be able to see anything out there, in the dead of night/earliest of mornings.
7:24PM. And after the most fierce battle with tech that I’ve found myself engaged in, in months, if not a year (calling what I thought was an IT number but was only a scammer.. luckily I hung up and disconnected internet connectivity), I’m back at the laptop with renewed appreciation, and total embrace of the simple approach to writing, my business, life. Alice had it right this morning, put the phone down. It’s down now, believe me, and with under 5 hours, actually just over 4 hours till departure for the vineyard, I’m in the mind state and frame I need. And to add to today’s attack on the writer, the SF prospect passed, stating her editor didn’t like my revisions. Of the original sample I sent. And honestly, I’m fine with it. She very much tried to help me, which I appreciate. And who knows what her editor wants. I don’t care what any editor wants if you must know– well you already do. I’m focusing on the wine, the winemaking, the vineyards, wine writing, me, my family, building this business so my babies will have the option to share one day the office with me.
Jackie home from swimming lessons, which I took him to, Alice staying home and resting which she needs, carrying little M. While watching him, in the water, me not looking at my phone and seeing so many parents looking at their screens completely ignoring the processes of their children in the pool. The instructors were far more attentive that those parents. But not me. I watched everything little Kerouac did in the water, sitting on Ms. Ashley’s lap and letting her take his arms to make the stroking movements. My phone now still in pocket. There it stays. And the email that was hacked, letting it die. Never using it again. Now only my vinolit address used for business. And to everyone who tries to contact me through the old address.. well….. If the story wants us to stay connected we will be. I’m moving on and distancing myself from this technological terrorism and dependency. I’m going to continue to be the odd one who doesn’t look at his goddamn phone every five seconds. I’m going to always be the lunatic watching his son swim in the pool, or the view of the vines or how the tree moves with gusts. I’m an artist, not a device dependent drone. I’m alive, they’re not. They’re less than alive. They’re devices themselves, with vices about their movements and interactions. Not this writer. At present, this laptop not connected to the internet, and I love the detachment! I love the art of my movements and my breathing, the way I push the keys even feels better, much more richness in the sounds.
Going through the camera I see so many images that I haven’t used, and the video camera I haven’t used has material as well. And no connection to the internet for these tech pieces, so no chance of getting hacked. Yes, I know, but still tech. A compromise you could say. In the vineyard I’ll go from camera to camera, and if I can write notes, single words not burdening myself with full sentences or any kind of proper grammar as these editors want.
Funny the email said I was in Turkey, as I’d love to go to Turkey, have always wanted to go there and write about the streets and all the merchants, the customs and scents and buildings, wherever I could go. And the danger that people speak of and warn Americans against, what fuel for the writing. For THIS writer, dodging and hiding from whomever… I need travel, and this hacking event today, if you could even deem it an “event”, only made Mike more resolute.. nearer to book’s completion, my travels, and more enhancement of life quality for my family.
Still quite a bit of clutter and paper piles around me.. evidence of the battle and how it diversely crushed my day’s routine. Maybe I won’t go to bed when I get back here at 2-whatever. Maybe I’ll come to this swiveling chair, to my pages, to this new me for which I have today to credit.