Promised self in journal that tonight, two PRINTED pages of short fiction.  About a guy in sales, fighting quota, thinking about switching careers, to something he enjoys.  Like photography, or getting back into teaching…. Never a wrong time to switch or return to something, I’m noticing.

Jazz calming me… the entire rest of day, all mine.  Shit…. Forgot I had to do something.  Goddamnit.  Will have to wake at a Kerri hour to do… post-it on desk, hopefully this writer doesn’t forget.  I can’t…. Writing my way through day, out of mood I was in earlier.  Trying to find love wherever I can, in all actions… this Hutcherson track, the sounds of the keys being hit by my fingers’ skin.  Time for an espresso I think…. Made, next to me on desk surface, the surface that again by the day become cluttered, but indicative of work, effort, production.  

Wine tonight, the St. Francis Cab, or Merlot.  One of the two.  Wine speaking to me, these winery owners and their dreams and visions of wine production – small tasting room where I met Doug from Hope & Grace.  How he’s still a dentist.  So happy, content in his path and with the wines his family’s label produces and shares with the world… stories.

Wine again telling me to come back but with more directed fire and precision.  The people, the drives in Napa and now with my new story at Orin Swift, all David’s wines and their sovereign stories.  Each bottle a book, how I see it.

Each day, a story.  Today, a RE-WRITE,  New ways and habits, sight.  Grounding self in this wine story, challenging this new Mike Madigan to write only about and from wine, what I sip but more importantly all the CHARACTERS in this wine book.

3:07….  This set of songs getting to me more, lifting not only my spirits but senses and sensitivity to the room, the day, what’s occurring around me.  Submitted some final documents, and I think the new story is ready to leave ground.  Only a matter of days…

No more slowness about me.  Need to get out, write in another place.  When home, shower, she Chardonnay or SB, more words. More story… all for the kids.  The company I build for them, what I create from a singular breath and room.  It’s all about the room I’m in, I realize.  More of that postmodern promise and paragraph connectedness.

Quick three line poem, and I’m out.  More poetry… more music.  Form, play with it. Like Hutcherson with his notes, Coltrane, Brubeck…