Looking back at the writer.
but designing. And if you’ve stayed or parted from the design, you put yourself back in it. Don’t scold yourself. At all, much less excessively. Go back to your sight and self-promise, actuating your fire and story. Collect, breathe, calm. There’s another scene soon to start.
Odd dream, so I’m awake. Not a nightmare, but odd, and it was third person. Main character being chased, and I only observing. Felt useless as a character. Is that’s what’s keeping me up? Definitely how a writer would look at it. Write your book, the dream or dreams tell me. What’s chasing me, or the character I’m writing is the story.
Have to be in the office at 7 for a ride along. Wonder where we’re going. Last time I had one of these I was newly hired. Yes, I remember, the Friday of my first week. Now I’m coming up on a year. Writer at a tech company.
Not ready to go back to sleep. Even if I were I wouldn’t be able to, more than likely. So…. what.
planning for the next should
always creatively catalyze.
Haven’t started editing piece from yesterday, the tasting room one about the two in the Room on a dead day. Will do today possibly at lunch. Or am I running at lunch. Run. Many will be out of the office today, so I can get quite a bit done. Contact new contacts, email other account executives. The day more or less planned, and I sit here typing with the little time I have left after taking wife and wee beats to bus, the airporter taking them to SF.
Dinner tonight, something light. Wake early before friend Chris arrives and run. Budget for Napa mission, brought down from its initial peak. Only looking to buy a bottle from each visited. Keep expenses constricted and tense, the day musical. This one especially, yield more pages. Need new pieces and ingredients to written recipe, precisely the reason for journey. Wine orders plays a new beat, and I recite what I can… Cabernet, like a one act play, but then I’m like dried clay here at the kitchen counter. Realizing the quiet, like a meditative riot tyrannical like Pontius Pilate.
6:34, another coffee at my composition door. Not from Starbucks but my own yesterday bought at store while getting bites for mini’s, saying they wanted 4th of July snacks and wanting to play outside and did but only for a bit the heat getting to them and me much quicker than forecast.
Think of editing This is The Tasting Room piece, but…. What the whatever, first paragraph…. Read a bit more. Mostly dialogue. Do I want to change that, switch it up a little? More narration? Save that for next piece. This idea aims to explore or maybe even endlessly define and characterize wine and the relationship she can have with someone seeking such. More and more, I frustrate quite vocally with people and the industry that just sees wine as something to pour, something to sell, some bit of fucking inventory.
is narrative maze.
As mornings are at times harsh,
observations becomes more poignant,
thoughts more assiduous.