Framing All

Lunchtime freewrite.  Already walked the vineyard once and am now in my office where I usually am during week.  Quiet collection.  No noise.  Just a gathering of thoughts and I’ve reasoned that I won’t write after dropping off babies tomorrow.  Rather, just launch from their school.  Planning on 10+ miles, into the park and forest as I used to.  May even attempt a trail.  Don’t think I’ll get lost but if I do then I find my way out.  No big.  Had idea this morning of fiercely pursuing this idea of wine country running and fitness lifestyle.  Not sure how the business would shape, and how it would be different from #25fitwrit (which I still need to write specs on), but it would be its own entity, one with which I would lecture and speak on.  Mostly running, but cycling as well.  Have to buy a bike, first, find time to cycle, but when do I have time for that, this writing papa.  Who knows.  That’s what it always boils to, time.

No clouds today lingering like yester’ only a vocal sky and vines that want me to again walk them.  Again.  But I need to write.  Didn’t run this morning for 45 minutes as my wife and I conspired but I’m writing at least.  AND, I got in those pushups, some physical activity.  Should be eating lunch now but I assume the form and stubbornness of a disciplined writer, only wanting to tell my story of aiming for total Wellness and FREEDOM, owning my own business and eventually my own winery like Debra.  Thinking and taking notes in head, though after this “lunch” I’ll be with my Carpe journal, noting in between pours, notes on the wines and what I see out that glass door.  Oh this quiet, my newest of newly renewing and richly enriching opiates.  The views, pulling me and my declarative sentences toward me and toward them, all parts of Dry Creek, repeated as if some otherworldly strings connect with me, being puppeteered willingly.  I’m free in this writing, just know, and I’m not concerned with centrality, or any consistency, I just look out that window, stare at the Bella hill, those vines.  You know what, I will walk them, one more time before returning to TR.  Time passes me… have to ready for weeks lecture.  Also this morning thought, along with all my other business thoughts, that these two SRJC classes are their own business.  100 and 1A, Composition and a Creative approach to both, exchanging ideas, embracing wild creativity and having voice always return to freedom, the poetic, the liberating lawlessness of candid and unfettered expression.  This place, the vineyards, Dutcher Crossing and its encouraging story do this to me.  I knew today would be different, and I was more than with reason and accurate sensibility.

My inner seismology if more than yay-saying, it’s confirmed.  And, this wine life is not just defining me, it DETERMINES my stories direction.  It will take me to the Road, to my novels, my characters, speaking on the words entailed in the planted visuals.  All there, all here on this page, and in everything written by Mike Madigan.  Yes, needing another walk, more capture, more of my own code, more narration from I see and don’t.  Gripped, and I haven’t even sipped.

(8/28/16)

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