Not what I expected at first, to be frank. There was a shortage of charisma in its nose, mouth, finish. Even in its color. But, after a couple hours of shaking, air, it slowly came around. Nice earthy notes, herbs, wild fruit. The finish had its tannic sparks, but nothing excessive. Even still, it wasn’t what I expected from a Silver Oak, but I’m still sipping it. One aspect to this to this bottle, after hours of being open mind you, that engages me, is the noses now-floral overtones and how they propel the fruit in this sexy spiraling pattern on palate. Interesting experience with this bottle. Thanks to the gifters! Wonder what else they’ll throw my/1Stop’s way…
If anyone ever wants to know, they’ll be able to read it here. My new model, all about the blogs. That’s how I’ll reach Writing Autonomy, Wine Autonomy. Industry Sovereignty. Will only write for bottledaux, the 2012 b/log, 1Stop, and in my paper journals. No new projects. Was thinking, Kelly doesn’t look for help when painting her glasses; no need for outside assistance in marketing her work. Just her. So, just me, presently, and forever. No publishers, useless lit mags, other flabby forums.
Mocha2. First time I’ve typed here at the Roasting Co since before the cut. In my favorite spot, before first sip. If all my writing’s going to be thrown to these posts, should I fear fallout from honesty? I don’t know. I don’t fear consequences from writing as mySelf. And I shouldn’t. If I was to be cautious, how could I call mySelf an artist? And hold your lectures on tact, or anything similar. I’m writing from heart. Speaking of passion, those journalists I watched the other night, the ones following the GOP candidates, still in sight. Just edited my first official article for 1Stop. This weekend, Saturday, plan on doing a little tasting. Have spot chosen, a tasting Room close to home. Only visiting one, as I want to study their Pinot profiles. Would love to make a Pinot, and not ‘cause it’s fashionable, or “cool” to be into that varietal. My sister, Professor K herself, principally doesn’t like Pinot. Don’t know how that’s possible, but that’s her palate. Need to taste as many wines as I can in the next couple days, as there’ll be no wine contact for the next couple weeks, possibly more. If you knew me, you’d know why.
Read over the spoken word I wrote here, yesterday. Need to attend some readings, wherever I can find them in Sonoma County. Just need to be in the presence of other writers. And not banally “network” as they do in the wine industry. To me, that’s a waste of time, of Life. I want to be in the presence of other artists, others moving a pen. After work, headed over to Carpe Diem, to visit my brother. Talk about respectful paths to Autonomy, Steve is entirely exemplary. He and his friend, co-owner Stephanie, discussed their Wine Bar as a fantasy, fetched notion, while working in a Napa Valley tasting Room. Dreams, remolded into appreciative tangibility. That’s what he did. That’s one thing I like about “the industry,” the stories similar to Steve and Stephanie’s. Why have a boss when you can work for Self. And, MOST importantly, why make money for someone else when you can make it solely for Self? That’s artistic. Autonomous. Wine is freedom, as is writing, anything artistic. Cutting chains, always awing me. Some reading this horribly honest delivery may be unnerved. Wonderful. Point proven. Tonight’s sip, at Carpe, looking for a Pinot; One for writing, reflection. One with character, and I could always use new characters.
Lots of writing coming to bottledaux. Relieved, honestly. Never have to stress over where the pages are going, how many coins I need gather for a run to Kino’s. And that’s been one of my biggest struggles, that question I posed Self in an entry I scribbled at Solano Community College, I think: “Where do these pages go?” They’ll be here. At least till 12/31/12, 11:59pm. Sip, sip …
[1/12/12 – Th]
11:04p. Restart, with this new year. New business, new book, NewMike. Tonight, Merlot, Syrah, a little Cab. All, about the writing, wine, as I’ve always said. But, I need removal. From the familiar, from the routine. Travel, the solution. An unexpected business trip. Or one scheduled, no matter. I just need the road; new sights, characters, places to write.
10:43p. Five days into this new installation, already have two stand-alone pieces. One fiction, the other expository narration (written today). 1Stop seems to be gripping some attention, which pleases the author. Know it’s going to take time for momentum to accumulate, but my patience is hardly patience at all, really. Not uploading to the wine biz blog tonight, as I’m not drinking any wine. Only Ginger Ale, a Diet Coke with dinner. Now, I need a water. Relaxed, and that’s how I prefer stay. Closing session in matter of minutes. What I wanted to report, Comp Book’s completion. Two stand-alone spoken word pieces in the last pages. Actually, now that I recount, 3. This year, all about sovereign works, ones I can submit, or perform. Writing more, and just releasing. Life’s disturbingly too brief to be cautious, especially with my shape of art. Write, release. That’s it. That’s my Creative Consciousness Stream.
Thought about Self-publishing again, tonight, on the way home. Would be more than speedy in doing so, if it weren’t for the overhead. The Bottled Ox, relying on bottledaux for instant dissemination. Money’s on the way, and that’s what I’m needing more, these days, especially in days nearer; What I mostly thought of on my run tonight, all 5 miles. Need to restart that habit. Tomorrow night, can’t. But Saturday night, I’m thinking… 6 miles like I used to? 7?
Reading assignments for weekend: Katie’s winemaking book, and Capote’s short story collection with which I’ve been engaged in scattered touch-and-go’s. Speaking of landing only to pull back on yoke, Dad told me an incredible story from his early flying days. We also discussed writing about flight. He said, “If you wanted to do that, you’d have to totally immerse yourself in it.” I agree. Wish I could. Me and travel, soon to unite, I feel. A quaver in my core reassures. But when, I want to know…
10:56p. Closing in 4. And I can stop my key punches in exactly four minutes, no walk across the street back to office. Journalism, wine… Thank you, 1Stop. This new wine blog will be it. IT, I’m sensing. Journalism has always tickled me, but I’ve shrugged it off, being of fiction & poetry radix. Why not blend both, like blending journal entries? It’s 11p–oh, 11:01. And I’m still writing. I can do that, as I’m commander in my sessions. I’m on my clock, my schedule. I hyperventilate for MY goals, MY assignments. Tomorrow’s Literary Lunch, if it happens (may go to lunch with Lisa, a coworker), I’ll be–no, not planning it. That’s what I wrote in the final pages of the Comp Book, somewhere. That I’d embrace true spontaneity as a writer. Sit, and see what surfaces. Then scribble, or type. That’s art, that’s real writing. For me. Clocking out,