speckled retro

8/19–  7:04am.  Disappointed.  No run this morning.  Will sub for other exercises tonight, possibly.  “Planks,” or whatever they’re called.  Coffee at ready.  No wine tonight, again.  Another decaf, blended with choc milk.

Note sure what else to note for first day, tomorrow.  Don’t want to have the whole session, both, scripted.  They’re just meant to be notes, springing points.

Just posted to pedagogy blog.  In full mode to teach.  Bringing newJournal to work.  Think tomorrow being first day of class will more fluidly wake me for 5:30a run.  Let’s hope.  Need another cup.  Definitely.  Hopefully I’ll be able to taste my wine today.  Or maybe I should just leave it alone for a while.

8:28am.  Jack in chair, at desk.  I write from floor, from his right side.  This little Artist, supporting me this morning, nullifying my nihilism.  He speaks to me in his tongue, with the occasional ‘yeah’.

 

10:04pm.  Class tomorrow.  More than ready to re-enter pedagogical ring.  Alice, with gig tomorrow, I’ll drop the little Artist off at 8:30a, at Ms. Lisa’s.  I’ll be back home by 9:15a, departing from base by 10:30a, for Petaluma campus.  As I see, I start writing a new book tomorrow, one that’ll change current stage.  Sipping ’11 Zin from Estate line.  Capote, Faulkner, on-deck.

Hoping I wake earlier than usual, to put more on lecture docket, notes, offerings to encourage students.  Just going to take tomorrow as it presents itself2ME.  All I’m looking for, from 2morrow: engagement.  Know I always use that word, but for what I want from this term, it’s crucial on 1st day.

On news, fear-mongering with “possible” thunderstorms, using the term, over and over, “instability.” “Possibility” won’t “diminish” till Wednesday.. keeping the “threat” of thunder till later this week.  So funny, really.  Thinking I’ll go for a run after I drop off the little Artist at Ms. Lisa’s.  Can only afford 45 minutes, I think.  Not going to try to fool Self into thinking the 5:30a run’ll happen.  It won’t.  Not tomorrow, anyway.

Done with ’11 Zin glass.  Just relaxing now.  Want to dive into some curiosity.. something completely unrelated to wine.  What am I curious about, I have to ask…  So much.  Turkey, as a guest suggested I visit the other day.  Would love to, in addition to so many other countries.  Just want to be on Road.  And I’m certain that this semester will be the one that puts me where I want to be.  I know, while lecturing I’ll make mention of points I didn’t prepare.. that’s fine.  I’ll note what I remember, after-fact.  But I’ll write as much as I can b4.  To write my Road, what I know benefits student approach to Lit, writing, thought.  What benefits ME, as an Artist.  At some point, I have to accept that it’s okay 2B Selfish, to a point.  Almost to 500 words.. so I’ll end by saying ‘NO FEAR’.  EVER.  I’m just going to act.  In fact, plan less.  That’s Artistic– no, that’s truly POETIC.

11:56pm.  Should be asleep, but watching a doc on Poe, how he was destitute, without money, but made himSelf a Self.  So why am I so concerned about this stash into which I’m dipping for Jack’s childcare?  His letters, poems…  To be at the ‘mercy’ of publishers: DEATH, to/in itself.  I, as a new writer, refuse to be scratching for coin.  MY writing’ll be unfettered in compounding coals.  Chronically, if necessary.

 

8/20/13–  Great first day of semester.  Just posted to pedagogy blog.  This semester, a book.  The two classes, the 2prongs.  Already into Capote, Faulkner.  Just have to stay organized, do something everyday.  Putting that other book project on hold.  I know, I know…  But I have to.  My topic, my voice:  Literature, writing, teaching.  Wine, shoved far into background, only being pulled forward to drink.

How will I focus tomorrow, after such a day, one fueling me as I don’t think any other 1st day has.  Going to try again to wake early for a run.  See how it goes.  Would be lovely to get that out of the way.  The timing on my teaching days is perfect, with the time between dropping off Jackie at Ms. Lisa’s and English 5, then between 5 and the 1A.  Plenty of time to write, plan, contribute to this book.

Sipping night’s cap, I can only think of the semester.  Expand upon material, the selected authors.  And, what the students say.  This’ll be a test for me, certainly, staying with this 1topic.  But I can do it.  I have to, at this point in my Life.

The Capote interview I assigned, English 5: perfect way to begin, I think.  Capote’s speaking to us about everything from upbringing, to Craft, to success, to habits.  But I need to find other sources for furthering discussion– or, write some unexpectedly charging, commanding, lectures.

For example, “meaning” of a text.  What is this ‘meaning’ supposed to do, and after it’s experienced, or observed, digested.. then what?  If I’m to have classrooms devoutly devoid of tech, I can only bring applaudable material to each session.  I also think I need to have students dive into more descriptive writing exercises, as means of sharpening their journalistic blades.

TV on, but on MUTE.  Off to study Stanford syllabi.  Have to make Self wake for tomorrow’s run.  This beer, my 2nd, and LAST.  Hoping to hit Lawndale on Saturday after work.  Hope the weather won’t be 2harsh on the writer.  Feels somewhat hot, stuffy downstairs, here from this couch.

Time to be lazy.  Just think.  Best part of being a writer, sometimes.. when you’re writing but not; Doing more living, writing ALL in head.

 

8/21.  Harvest, off ground.  Couldn’t go in at 6 as I wished, having to drop Kerouac off at Ms. Lisa’s.  Again, aiming at 5am run tomorrow morning.  I’m committed to making mySelf pass through that front door, device around wrist to track progress.  Looking 2do timed run, more than one distanced.  Could be quite dark when I launch, so I don’t want to sprint too speedily.

Fellow blogger friend stopped by tasting Room today, bringing an ’09 Syrah.  Would open tonight, but I’m not failing in what I want from tomorrow’s earliest hours.  So when will I open it?  Syrah IS, after all, my character Kelly’s favorite varietal.  Tomorrow night?  Guess I could, since I won’t be running again till Friday night– no I won’t, it’s Sat and Sun I have the Lawndale jaunts planned.  Looking 2do 4 impressive runs consecutively.  Tomorrow morning, Friday morning, then Saturday and Sunday eves.  Have to be more stringent with planning.

Won’t be touching tomorrow’s lectures too much, tonight, as I want to pressure Self into rushed energetic composition tomorrow.  And I think I need it be handwritten, then copied, to show students how much I detest devices.  Almost lost a poem on phone today.  Or maybe I did.  Don’t know.  Precisely why EVERYTHING should be written in ink, on PAPER, first.

Just checked, nothing deleted today, that I can see.  But the fact that I even bloody had that concern bothers me immensely.  Last straw talk, I know, again.  Need to make a copy or two of some other Capote writings to give students a sense of his style, sentence rhythm.  For 1A.. Going to dig up what I can on Mr. Faulkner, also handwriting my lecture.  Have to write slow, not my usual sloppy syllabled stripings.

Have over 2 hours to prep for 1A.  Eng 5, about the same, now that the syllabus has been copied.  The first day’s always hectic.  Looking at the few stills I shot today.  Love new fruit, especially Sauvignon Blanc for some reason.  Ugh.. so tempted to have that Syrah tonight.  It’s there, in the entryway, taunting me.  Won’t let her win.  Not tonight.

My character, my sweet Kelly.. need to put her on page more.  The timing simply hasn’t been write– I mean right.  But after today, I’m newly shoved.. deliciously driven.

10:09pm–  Running shorts, socks, downstairs, on ottoman.  All I have to do, roll out of bed, come down here, depart.  OH, have to charge device.  And I found out about an hour ago I have Friday night free for running, but I’m staying with another early sprint set, followed by the two evening Lawndale runs, the next two nights.

Finishing a book this semester.  About my return to the classRoom, about this new rhythm to my lessons, lectures, this restructured passion.  Tomorrow, day2 of semester.. and with Jackie getting better about being left at Ms. Lisa’s, I should be back here to write, I’m hoping, before 9a.  If I leave promptly at 10, I could be on PC [Petaluma Campus] by 10:40, ridiculous latest.. which would give me more than enough to compose for class.  But how would I copy it?  NEW PLAN:

 

= Post to Pedagogy blog, on Capote interview, from home

= Write lecture at home and/or on main campus, copy, then leave for PC

 

Each session, each lecture guiding it, has to be significantly more poignant than what preceded.  That’s how I’ll get this book done.  AND, stay organized, simple.  This pedagogy blog.. a key thread in this semester’s book.  Maybe I could post a couple entries before I leave for campus(es), even getting a couple paragraphs down right after run.  If I leave at 5:20 [latest] and– no, that won’t work.  Wait, stop…  I’m overplanning, overthinking.

10:20pm.  Should be in bed.  I’ll be running in 7 hours.

 

Falling asleep, in

the character’s animation.

Her words, picture, fall.

Wouldn’t want other

ways to lay day.

 

Hopefully soon, steeped in

Syrah.

appointed pages, a beer bottle

Finished yesterday’s 3-page stint.  Now, just writing, relaxing.  Enjoying these Wine Bar beats.  Tomorrow, first day at SV Winery.  Nervous…  Not even a little.  More excited, now.  May have been a little nerved, yesterday.  Also on mind: publishing.  Was paid at 12a this morning, doing budget.  Only going to allow Self $100.  That’s it, that’s final.  Have to remind Self that budgeting is not about how much you’d like to set aside for business, or how much you THINK you need..  It’s how much you CAN allocate, how much you can honestly afford.  For me, now, $100.  Probably more than you need to know, reader, I know.  BUT, this is what truly independent writers [almost wrote “Self-published writers,” yuck!] should have in scope, always.  If they choose to ever go beyond an expected, fashionable, blog, if they started one.

Next to Jack, now.  He lays in his little bassinet, looking up at me, telling me to take a break from this device.  But I do think he likes the music.  Also looking down at my favorite little character, I again sit shaken, wanting to make this little one proud of his father.  SO, I have to keep writing, stay in constant session.  Trust Self, edit minimally, know I’m right in my streamed consciousness flight.

Last day off before returning to 5-day runs.  Speaking of runs, running, I’m setting  Self to run a couple miles later today.  Have eye on a race later in year.  One of the crew members at AV put me onto its time.  Clocking out for a small break, to have a talk with Little London/Kerouac, here.  Till later…

 

3:12pm.  Haven’t had one of these in a while, java chip frappuccino.  Sounded better than a second mocha.  After this entry, off to review SV Winery’s site, just to arm Self with some selling points, truly immerse Self in their wines.  Not like the box, when they’d hand us some packet before a winery visit.  “Go ahead and read this,” C2 would often say, tossing it onto my desk–or rather, into my cube.  So much healthier, now this writing’s away from that devilish wine labor camp.  And don’t think I’ve forgotten about all the notes I took while in that chair, with that headset, staring at that screen.  No run today.  Disgusted.

Looking through this Comp Book, the new one…  Need to finish this one piece I started just before leaving AV.  But instead of saying how I’m GOING to, why don’t I just DO?  My ever-present problem as a diarist.  Can’t get travel out of my head, must be why I’m so turned around, coupled with how fast Kerouac’s growing.  Almost 4 months.  Already.  How could that ever be possible?  Makes me only hate time, even more than I did before he was born.

Going to jump journals, again.  Over to Comp Book.  OR maybe that little black journal I bought a while ago, at some office supply store in Marin, of all places.  Tired of key pushing.  And, to be brutally honest, of wine to some extent.  In only microscopic moment, I’ll be in the car, en route to retrieve a bottle for tonight’s 1StopWineBlogShop beer tasting.  How many invited?  1.  Me.  Two, including whichever journal’s elected.

(6/5/12, Tuesday)

Back2Work, sipping for more scribbles [02182012]

Saturday.  Slouching.  Beyond tired, but I went to work.  Excited to be in the presence of wine’s world.  And write.  I was more than hell-bent on being a writer today, not having been on a self-assigned mission in a while.  Started in the VIP Room, then to the main bar.  Holiday weekend, all smiles, positive energy.  Characters eager to sip, learn about wine, talk about it.  Jack on my mind most of the day, coupled with genuine, very persistent, exhaustion–it was difficult to concentrate.  But I kept the little notepad close, pen ready.  Was talking with one group about Zinfandel, how its character can at time be almost palate-abusive; too loud, forceful; almost unorganized, no matter what a winemaker does.

Had another discussion about Meritage–its pronunciation, components.  “How is it pronounced?” she asked.  I told her, gently, that it’s a union, or blend, of “Merit” and “Heritage.” We then both made fun of other ways it could be annunciated.  “Thank you for not being snooty about it,” she said, smiles.  I seconds later found mySelf tasting the ’09 Rockpile, scribbling notes, logging its character’s every syllable.  “Sweet assault on senses; deep, dark, deliciously evasive; sexy siamese cat..” I wrote.  And now at home, 9:27am, I mean PM, I again sip.  First wined session in weeks.  Also reflecting on how, for once, the VIP Room didn’t frustrate me, unnerve me in anyway.  It also taught me a bit about my place with patience, with Art, Life.  Jack then came to mind, how his early arrival shows me that assignments need be done (printed, edited, for vend) early, always.  And, how Life, my Life, must embrace Art, my Art, belligerently.

I then tasted and took notes on a 2007 Petite Sirah, Dry Creek.  I’ve loved past vintages of this bottled character, but none have squeezed and enticed my focus like this one.  I called it “Yummy, Inc” in my notes.  Also denoted how it appears in glass, sits on palate, like “Yummy ink.” Can’t help but laugh a little, now at home, looking though this rushed journalism.  And it was frustratingly but energizedly frenzies today.  Pour, sprint, chat, pull from shelf…  Welcome, set glasses, pour the introductory white, move down bar, scribble character notes, capture dialogue…  All over again.

Wrote, “Reds sing more songs than whites.” Remember this stemming from a conversation I had with sippers moderately new to wine pursuit.  They disclosed that they didn’t really get reds, know how to appreciate them.  “What’s the real difference between red and white wine?” the guy asked, leaning on the bar space to the left of his girlfriend.

While one lunch, I just walk around the Wild Oak Vineyard.  That’s it.  Well, not really.  I wrote, took pictures.  A lot.  Of both.  Then, thought that I need to sometimes STOP writing.  Just live, enjoy.  Easily the most memorable lunch hour I’ve ever had at the winery.  I’ll be back on Monday, and will more than likely devote my 30 minutes with identical vein.  I again thought of Jack–his character, what he embodies as a symbol.  He’s more than a metaphor.  He’s telling me, just being there, wiggling and squealing in front of me, or in my arms, that my writing deserves Life.  Real Life; place on a page.  Little Jack orders me to follow through with the chapbook projects.  Done.  Thank you, little Sir.

One of my coworkers commented on how negative people in a tasting Room “feast on you, eat your soul.” I laughed, and agreed.  Still agree.  Wine, as I’ve written from DAY ONE, is meant to be unifying, not divisive.  How could anyone bring negativity into a place of Art?  One social, peaceful, enjoyable?  I’ll never get it.  Another thing I’ll never understand, on a separate but still similar note, is how winery management/ownership can willingly, reflexively underpay their employees.  Moronic.  This is the part of “the industry” that I’ll never stop citing, attacking.  It’s unjust.  And I don’t expect Them to change.  They won’t.  They don’t have to.  And neither do I, so don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut, or pen still.

Not really one for aerators, but I met one today that “antagonizes a wine’s intentions,” as I jotted, again hurried.  Right after my discovery, met a nice couple from LA (Louisiana), who recently relocated to my old neighborhood.  They, exemplary of the positive, friendly, civil, enthusiastic guests that all tasting Rooms/wineries welcome, especially the female character.  Direct gentle questions about wine, its origins, histories, styles.  They made me think about my wine, the project with Katie–how it’s developing, how it’ll taste after bottled for 4-6 months…  They, especially she, more than any other guests today, made me connect to my wine ambitions.  And now, with these deep red sips, think of my barrel again, as it rests up there in the production facility.  What’s it doing right now?  What’s it thinking?  How does it want to attach to palate?

Wrote a short poem in the vineyard, in between pictures.  The two not-so-little Jackrabbits I saw racing between the rows indicated that I need to write faster, more.  There is NO time to be excessively delicate.  Another sip of this Rockpile…  I’m told I need to, tonight, write solely poetry.  Compile more verses.

Back to my notes–”5:06pm. Sipping a sexy Merlot, stocking shelves.” Now, I tilt the glass, working at home.  I’m also envisioning, AGAIN, the travels from this writing.  Would love to return to a stage, read for those who’d listen; those who enjoy listening to thoughts, exchanging ideas, and I WILL be back in the classRoom again, doing just that with willing students.

This wine, Romantic like I remember wine being.  Glad I’ve waited to enjoy a glass.  Going to sip slow, respecting little Jack.  He’s still at the hospital, but still…  Tempering my tilts more than b4.  For him.  Want to be a focused penman, not a diagonal diarist.  So, sipping slow.  Enjoying.  Can’t tell you how annoyed I get when people stumble into the tasting Room just to drink more, accumulate more effect.  It’s disgusting.  I’m not THAT.  I’m a writer.  Now, of immeasurably elevated aim.  Looking through the pictures, as I always do.  They show I need log everything.  EVERYTHING, as time won’t ever slow.  And it doesn’t need to.  The wine tells me I don’t need to, either.  That I shouldn’t.  Sip more, see what else I need do, need not do.  Sip, scribble…  What I now need do.