In the tasting room. Not throwing self into day too quickly, but I have the timer on as I did yester’, for 6 hours this go ‘round. What do I want to happen? What do I expect to happen? I don’t know.. really. But something. With wine and writing and self-publishing, small releases to bridge these income gaps, not writing for free— even the newsletter.. keep it short maybe. But no, even that would be unpaid. Well, it would be paid in that I’d be paying to send it out over whatever emailing system I elect. So now.. to brainstorming.. a business plan for me as a “professional blogger”.. no more than 3 posts a day, on any given blog. And nothing over 300 words of prose. Anything over should be sold, printed and bound. I’ll be traveling lecturing about self-publishing as well, in addition to teaching and writing and blogging, maybe even travel and travel writing, a new form of journalism.
But not so fast. To thinking, storming in my stormdrain brain.
Researching, more “connections”, and yes another blog. Looking at the wines on the table left, or really atop a cupboard, they want me to taste them. So I guess I will. Not all, just the Pinot. And the Grenache. And Cab. The wines in this room tell me not to get board but to keep swimming in the narrative of each varietal and translation.. swim in wine’s calculations and codification. Pouring myself something.