Interesting start to

img_3408this morning, thinking I had to be at a meeting at 0830 only to learn I didn’t have to be there at all.  Which serves as a boost and a boon, giving me time to write right across the street at the winery where I’m based.  Retiring… my first taste of retirement, from the wine industry, its slow-moving and barely-communicative facets.  No more tasting room, no more pouring for other people.  I will miss the words, though.  What people say about wine and how they say it, with that tone to their voice.  Like I wrote a while ago, I’m closer to wine and even its industry by writing about it, and leaving physically.

Retiring… to focus on teaching and generating ideas with student, philosophy and pedagogy, writing practice and journal habits… and business, and fusing my literary life and presence into the business world.  Writing and blogging and holding observations in esteem, as they build character, Personhood.

Yesterday leaving the winery early to write.  That’s always my first impulse and inner-shove when I have free time.  Write.  Why then lately has writing given me such a shake, been such a challenge and near painful to catalyze?  Have to write though it, I guess.  As I always say to students and write in my entries.

Going through past entries, where I was stressed about something in the wine industry, or in life, or with teaching, with something.  Find it interesting.  How from day to day we’re all the same character but there’s some sharpened corner, refined angle, or damaged dimension somehow.  I’m learning more, while aging.  That’s certain.  Even now, with no music on as I usually have, I only hear the building’s natural sounds.  I think a little wind from the other side of the wall, outside by trees, and the winery’s tanks and, or, pumps on the crush pad doing something, dinging and whooshing, making some released air clunk-sound.  I’ll share some of this with those registered for the classes I’m to teach this term, and some notes I’ll just leave here on the blog, or in a drawer, in the Burgundy journal.  Only two days away, when I see students for the first time in months, having taken off the summer.  Glad I did, as it taught me that I need a drastic momentum shift.  Something New.  A renewed ME, new story and pages, a BOOK.

No meeting, but I meet with myself.  With this page.  Just felt a chill, a bluster of terror that I couldn’t write anymore.  That either I forgot or I’ve lost some intrigue or interest in and with the act itself, or something.  But it’s not true.  It’s not me, not the present… nothing of what you’d see in me right here typing in someone’s cubicle.  Not sure if she works here, anymore.  Work… what we live for.  What I feel I only do.  So why not have it be not just something you love or are passionate about, but plainly who you are.  You’re a winemaker… you’re a writer… you’re a teacher… you’re a doctor.  Yes, it’s your job, but it’s YOU.  You own it, you own you… you own your onus.  Have a meeting with yourself, see what transpires.  Write it down.

Following my own instruction, I write it.  “I. AM. A. WRITER.” Learning more about me and why I am where I am, what I’m doing.  Letting the immediate scene and observational pattern teach me as to what next do.

8/18/18

Wine. 

Last night not opening anything resplendent.  Just taking the rest of the Cabernet I opened night prior.  And, frankly, it said nothing to me.  Nothing at all.  An idea for a short, from my character Kelly as you might forecast, her first day in the wine industry, being walked around the crush pad and seeing the production crew cleaning and steaming barrels, sulfuring some lots before harvest arrives.  She thinks to herself the she wants that, to make something, to give something life, to contribute to wine’s vivacity and composition.  My relationship with wine changes, as I age.  No longer, and I mean NO longer, do I want to be in that tasting room.  I want to write her, wine, and that’s it.  Kelly, the avatar for all wine should represent.  She’s in the industry as an invaluable antithetical.img_3188

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…be low on the communication volume, if at all known past what I write and post to blog.  I’m camping in…. Working.  Now that I think, I will message her, just let her know I’m off for the day and ‘if you want to talk I’m here’, something like.  Overeagerness of course could contaminate my chances but some constant conversation, concise and to the point if you would could only be more demonstrative of my candidacy’s validity, oui?

My French.  On the day’s list.  Haven’t studied or practiced in some time, too long.  Met a lady the other day that told me she learned, years ago, all on her own by getting together with other French learners and French speakers.  Starting a project, today.  “J’y vais…” which just means ‘here I go’.  Name of the project.  I’ll pick a word, later.  No now… argent.  Money.  I’ll learn word by word, if I can.  Part of today’s productivity plan.

Wife calls me from New York City where her sister has some lunch meeting or event, and wife watches all 4 kids.  Missing them, jealous of their travel, saying to myself, “See?  Even my six year-old son and 2 and a half year-old daughter are traveling, in New York where Kerouac and the gang were.  I need to write faster, not be afraid of anything, certainly not in the wine industry, I just stay educing and moving into the 12, the forward…

On lunch,

and in no mood for where I am. And I hate saying that. What am I afraid of, I keep asking. There is no cause for a timid form. When back from lunch, I’ll be a new and renewed character. I swear, I swear this time… this time I’m going to make this my time, my time where I’m in no way held in any one place. Why did it take me so long? Don’t think like that… this is perfect timing. More than perfect.

With a glass of ‘14

Merlot in tow, I measure everything. Seeing more of me, my future, forgetting about age for a minute which I know will make certain readers quite happy, but here.. now… right now with this wine, the grape that pulled me further into it all. Not much a writer, right now, after the taxing tasting room tale that was today, with my little vino sis Taylor. 21:25, should just clock out, shouldn’t I… watch some writer show and note in the Burgundy Journal, something. Something that will get me to the Road– fuck I’m tired of wishing. So stop. Do. Ceasing these types. Wine and ink, a page– now.