Day 5

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The drive over here, in my mood, thinking of what to write, why not just have a jam session— my instruments all contained in mind, different visions and thoughts, and reflections concerted in efforts all.  Seeing certain things in the industry as a hornswoggle.  What do I do— go outside of any box, and box one would intend keep me in.  The HST of wine writing, the Shakur, the Plath… the Hughes.  I’m doing the right thing but still.. something fails to click.  And that could be my expectation of the click.  And why the bloody mood?  ‘Cause everything eats into writing time, time to get me closer to what I really want to see and do.  I’m not a young writer, anymore.  And I want to take off.  So what’s stopping you?

Tired of my wishlisting and grievance-going.  So I take camera from bag and skip through pics.  So many speaking to me, and what I should be doing right now, but it rains, and I didn’t bring shoes for row saunter, through mud and those little puddles.  08:24.. stay right here, in this chair, don’t let anything take you from your types, I tell myself.  Wines and vines go through little moods, little stalls and odd pulse-trips.  Must be what I’m in…. ‘Oh but I’m a wine blogger, I can’t express this, no?’ Sure I can.  And I did.  I just did.

One shot, taken of canes extending upward and anyway they can, in dormancy, tired and resting from their growing season.  What you’d see out there right now if the pruning hadn’t been done.  I just stare, wonder what the next year’s to be like, what the crew will be thinking when they stand where I stand, right now, here, there, anywhere in this block.  And I’ve always found a gothic, purest and transparent beauty to the vineyards, this time of year.  Everyone talks about how gorgeous the vineyards and all of wine country are during the growing season, where there’s flowering, and big canopies, mammothly voluptuous clusters.  But hardly ever now.  And that’s always bothered me.

This morning I freewrite for the vineyards.  Not the wine.  Blogger friend of mine saying she wants to pursue viticulture.  Just a declarative, singular and stanch, autonomous proclamation.  That this is what she’s going to do.  She then solicited her audience for texts and recommended resources.  Reminded me of my students days, going from Foothill to Sonoma State, with so much at the bow, so much I could do, so much invitation and promise, no scam or rouse, only truth.  This morning’s drive, starting at the resting arms, told me I have that now.  That we all do.  That there is no point where a shift isn’t invited.

Another shot— taken here at Roth, at that upper block, by the I think Merlot and Petit Verdot.  One morning with no clouds, and air so delicious that being inside was like being in a gas chamber.  It was the vineyard and me.  That simple.  Just us.  No conversation.  Just presence.  Looking at my photo now, I don’t want to go back because I already am.IMG_1848

NaNoWriMo, 11/5/16 excerpt

…if I had all eight of the hours I spend at the winery?” All EIGHT.  To write.  Drink my coffee, not be pressed for time, just write.  Swear that Novel Writing Month is for people that don’t have kids.  I need to stop.  This is the time NOT when I should be writing.  I don’t have the right attitude, and I’m not spending time with Jack—  “Daddy, look, I need to find race cars like this,” he says, pointing out a certain body type for cars, but I’m too busy typing to look.  That’s not right.  So I’m stopping.  I have race car shapes and chassis styles to study.img_8395

Okay just a hundred more words.  The winery will be busy today—  OH, and I have to charge me camera.  Going to walk in a different place on the property.  Feel like I’m taking the same pictures over and over and it’s bothering me.  Distracted by Jack’s Lego cartoon, I think about having my own office, by the end of the month.  Somehow making that happen.  How.  Just put out more story, more pictures… more of this parenting story of mine, reach out to other parents— well, not “reach out” like I’m soliciting help or some kid of solvent or counsel, or trying to sell them something or ON something, but just be there for them, create story for them, ideas for them.  November, my favorite month, needs a new reason why it’s my favorite.  After this month it will be.

I start to enliven with another sip of coffee.  Just a dad and his cartoons.  His son next to him on the floor taking a break from his race car studies and presentation.  I have more than I need to motivate me, to beat NaNoWriMo at its own plan…

Rain, My Walk

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Not much ground covered on this walk.  And I didn’t have to.  Everything was meant to be shot.  The water and the mud, tilled rows and the fading leaves.  All for me on my walk, and differently more intense on this walk than on the others.  This little tendril, posing for me with its leaf backdrop.  At first I thought nothing of, then I stopped.  Shot.  Two, three.  The wind push the can back and forth and I stopped it with my one free hand (left).  It’s obvious to me it wanted its own picture, place in my photo journal.  So…

 

Just a Shot I Wanted to Take

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Obvious metaphor, but significant the way this plant spoke to me, the little rain weeps left on the sagging ear.

“I’ll take more pictures,” I thought. I’m not a pro, not sure I ever will be or want to be, but I’ll push the button when compelled.

I want to give this photog’ thing a shot.

-Mike