Laptop dies, after 500+ words.
I keep going.
About to leave Jimtown, walk a vineyard, shoot a video, capture cluster in their color shift.
Looking back at the writer.
Office getting quieter. Many gone home. Staying here to get head start on tomorrow. Desk a little bit more organized than before. Only a little. Well, maybe more than a little. Set three appointments today, which isn’t bad. Was hoping for one more, but I have tomorrow and a new set of prospects to hit. My approach to my agency is connectedness, conversation, helping others convert and grow their business. There will be a return, I know. Thinking about how the day started with my late start and rush to a meeting, having a meeting after that with one chap in business and explaining what he does, me writing in my head ideas for my practice. Mothing of mimic, but from the unintended encouragement of the conversation itself.
My P-O-Z Agency is all words. That’s it. All language, communication, the poetic hand in business. Little over 20 minutes till I leave. And before I do, more notes to self. More notes for the meetings I have queued for tomorrow, one in morrow then one at lunch. Keeping the motion not only constant but ravenous. Hungry, a constantly present and pursuing atmosphere and phantasm.
As the office quiets, I want more. I want to explore more of this—where I am and what I’m doing. The decision to leave the wine industry and pursue something different, something new and an equation to solve, or play with, explore. Just see what happens. That Newness, the new experiences craved by writers. And that’s what this is, do note, a writer, of wine, wandering in tech and the internet’s frame and dimension. Not so much to find something, or maybe it is, but to observe and learn and keep observing and wandering. I’m in a stage of my story where there’s more life in what’s around me, the seemingly plain and mundane, that I ever before estimated. This office, this company and its collective voice and steps, its BEAT, its music, has done such.
A line again and
I put myself in it,
so I say to self, plain.
planning for the next should
always creatively catalyze.
Less than an hour left in day but I don’t at all plan on leaving at five. Not even minutely. Stay an organize, and more than organize, PLAN. Write the vision, writing more for the business, my business and practice. Consolidating everything. No complaining, no turbulence like yesterday which I let happen. Today walking around Petaluma for new business with department head showed me about voice, approach and wording. What my old wine industry friend said, less is better… less is always better. And he’s a winery owner, one you’d think is always looking for new approaches and new ways of doing things in day to day operations and actuations.
Movement is the principle to be embraced, and consistently practiced. And in simple, singular sets and strokes. And these steps are not really that simple, or one-dimensional. They are loaded with amplifying potential, and life, a sharp vivacity. The department head, Mark, told me to keep doing what I was doing, and remember to just be myself. Talk to people, learn about them, tell them what we’re doing there. Make it enjoyable. Ideas and thinking shapes I already know and enact, but to hear it reiterated by him was elevating, poetically.
Interrupted to tend to another thing. What I’m noticing more about my business life is that you anticipate distraction. Write in sentence of shorter length and sharper connection. Wine after work. Not sure where. Have idea for somewhere new, but not sold. Everything comes back to wine, what I thought and still think walking those vineyard blocks, this morning waking and realizing the Malbec last night didn’t say much. Which is fine, more than fine. That’s instruction, elucidation of my story and character station, not ever allowing moods or some disposition complacent.
Need a walk, some air, a break, or just a walk to have thoughts land on me like curious wings.
… through love of wine, the vineyards, walking in vineyards as I do. I opened the blend, red blend, from Inspiration last night when home from Mom and Dad’s, and she forwarded in random beats, spoke with curiosity and certainty, helixed in amorous shape and tone. I know I’m home on this page, with her, I knew I was last night. The red fruit syllables sang in tandem with terrestrial chords and peppered curvature. Again music, again poetic. What is was was time and me in that time, right there with her. That’s all I knew, know. That’s all there need be. When wine is overthought it’s forgotten. You’re at that point not into the wine anymore but whatever thought stream you’re on for whatever reason…
Day driving around wine country and being in wined character. After going in to office this morning to work a bit but more for writing, writing in a place that is mine, where I am me and collected and collective in my wined music velocity. Poured self glass of the Delectus Sytah. Think there’s two glasses left, I don’t know. Sipping slow. Letting her to me speak. Wine tells me to mind pace and be more with music’s quip and code and only speak that language alongside wine.
Had to use money that was in envelope. Back to first square. Less than that. Not worrying. The Syrah is singing to me and telling me to write, go through pictures from that Dry Creek vineyard, pick what music and dialect you can.