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

Starting the day

waiting on some appointment. While here, I figure write. Why not. Haven’t hit 3000 words in a while and I know that I have to write every chance I get if I’m to make that kind of progress, but that mark. Tired of thinking, tired of promissory statements to self and to readers of this blog. So I just act, start seriously on the Kelly novel. While getting ready this morning I thought about her, her last day in the ad office in the Marina, her drive back up to her new apartment in Santa Rosa, what she must be thinking, before her first day in the wine industry. She doesn’t know what to anticipate, if she should be nervous or not…

Tired of writing the same thing, and that’s what I feel I’ve been doing. I write where I am, what I’m doing, but that often is much of a repeat. So what do I do but go outside myself. To someone else. Another character. Writing has always just been something I’ve done with not much anxiety or holdup. But lately I’ve been held up. Why. Bored. I guess, no? Bored with the same workday, the same drive, the same sameness of everything around me. Thank the Craft for this new job, new office, new best, new people. Even this office is something to write … me merely here for some physical or something for my new role, but others here for something more pressing, serious or even threatening. Reminds me of how delicate this all is. How fragile I am, my life is. Someone’s name called, but not mine. Goddamnit– Wait though, what am I worried about? My last day in the wine industry is in 9 day’s. NINE. If they fired me, lovely. That’d be something to write.. something new.

Pinot last night, Failla. Didn’t do much to me, really. Surely didn’t inspire me to write about it. It was just another wine. Now I’m certain, more than I was before, that the wine industry and world, possibly even wine itself to some extent, and I need break. I think of my babies and how they see me, how I want them to see me. Last time they visited me in that bloody tasting room I cringed, felt momentous lay embarrassed and queer, them seeing me pour and having to ask that new twigg-twit if I could spend a little time with them. Well that’s fine. And I’m DONE. And never going back. This new “job” will be my last ever. Same feeling as going into your senior year of high school.

Ugh…. when will they call my name? Hate waiting. In a waiting room. Not where I want to be. But I’m here. May as well make use of the writer’s time and write. Right? Another name called. Guy two seats down from me. Will surely be late to winery. Oh well. Relieved I can afford that feeling. And I can. Last step in this whole pre-first day around-tower circle.

Clifford….

NO! Mike!

8/14/18

Back from a 6.3-mike run

and come home to two tired babies. Tired myself, but learning more about what I’m to do, the act of learning itself and the purpose of this writer’s writing. Going to wait till later to expand upon the day, how I’m approaching tomorrow in the tasting room. One of my last.

Some random Cabernet

I bought off a winemaker based in Livermore. Might be my only glass, being so tired from yesterday’s event and all the speaking today. Just swore to self that this sitting would be the one that does something. What. What? I ask the Cab. I provoke one sip and it doesn’t answer. So I’m done for the night. Clocking out. Not sure I deserve to.

Here exceptionally early. 

img_3121-1Earlier than I have been, possibly ever.  Iced coffee, day 2 no mocha.  07:46.  Detaching self from any plainness of day.  That includes work.  But not talking about that, more the recipe I this morning wrote to get me to travel, to get me to my finished book, to change everything.

I notice myself writing much the same, so I utterly switch and re-write the Now, ME.  Focusing on short fiction, as per Mom’s counsel.  Writing idea after idea down, single words and character names— the barista, the pilot, the teacher, the poet, tasting room associate…

Waiting to hear still from possible new assignment.  But I’m not waiting.  I’m going on with my story, a writer, nothing supplies such merriment.  Nothing, as when I’m here like this in a coffee spot or in own home, writing something.  Could be notes, what I want to do with day, more on my travels eventual, wine, running, waking early, my babies…

IMG_3203

…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…