I come back in, and look around this room…. Wines, my own, pouring them and speaking about them…
Feeling anxious for some reason. Why… I’m in Sonoma, in my friend’s tasting room, with a chance to finally write in peace and imagine this as my studio.. my only job to finish a book.
This tasting bar…. perfect. Just what I would want in my shop, or office… where writers and bloggers, photogs, other creatives could be, talk, sip coffee or wine or water, beer, whatever and discuss craft.
Writing, what I write about. What it does.. solves, cured, decides, heals, shows, speaks. Have no one to talk to, then you talk to your journal, as Frank did in the attic. This journal, YOU, here for me in this room before the work week lifts off.