a writer:  post 021

Should be working on an article right now but I’m being quite the manuscript malefactor, sipping Merlot and freewriting.  Alarm set for— no, no hexing my aim.  On the night: no rain, not so cold outside.. if I were in some hotel on the Road, an overnight, the night before a lecture, I’d be out on patio, sipping this ’12, looking at fading thin clouds pass under stars in admiration of them as I am.  Still can’t believe Fall semester is over— and how I survived I’m not sure but these next two sections I lecture…   Interesting, again I find time, how it just passes and now it passes even ever-quicker with Emma here, carnivorous and plainly cruel.  Have to act out of character, away from the template even the one I’ve set for myself, just act, and write, and target whom and whatever I want, in wine’s industry, on the Napa side, in politics (mainly elephant pukes), and whatever else.  Oh this Sanglier Merlot, just emboldening me to get closer to my label and everything I want to do.  In such introspection, or better objective character analysis, I’ve been fearful of several things: rejection, altercation, doubt by others, and moving from place to place as so many in the wine industry do (and anyone who fails to recognize this pattern is just a mental wart puppy; ignorance and inanimate, like one of the many, in the segmented and inept family, family members of the last winery I “worked” at).  Humorous but I won’t give them any more page.  I’m going to write what I wish, like.. this Merlot wants me to, the varietal I started with, telling me to come back, go make my wine, do something crazy, out of character— watched some commentary tonight on the “townhall” talk with Obama, so many of the journalists and pundits and experts, just talking with enflamed vocality and judging, as if they would do so much more.  IF they were qualified to be in office.. and if I’m in the wrong for saying such, then they commit the thought fallacy of allowing sentiment to trounce sensibility.  The relishable artifact of logical fallacy.

Traveling.. what will get me traveling?  All writers should think how their writing will get them wherever their objective is, that geographic habit, envisage.. and me, writing about politics, more than wine, reducing wine to no more than a hobby— as many of these wine “writers” and “experts”, or “journalists”, present themselves further in disfavor than the politicos I saw this evening on TV.  Now, I respect them as authorities, but their ideas’ delivery was too rushes and saturated in increased heart BPM.  I’m rambling I know but I know what I’m saying, and sometimes, oftentimes, as a writer that’s all that keeps concern, is of any consequence.

So I’m on the Road, in a hotel after attending an event for a Republican candidate, in my room and with a bottle of Merlot, a ’10, on the East Coast somewhere and looking through my notes.  My article, or blog post, due by tomorrow morning at 9, PST.  I just think about where I am, can’t bring myself to type what I noted in that little book, but only write with free wheels, speeding to the page’s bottom line sets.

But I’m in my home.  Hearing my daughter hiccup in the other room, frustrated with herself and how her own body behaves, how she can’t control it.  I dream of the Road, still, finish my Merlot, feel a mood fall over me, down like a tight sock.