6/7/19

Coffee, I mean latte.  Feel something with today, and that’s the decision to re-write ALL negative presence, sentiment, tell, pulse, anything in my story.  First sip confirming.  The book, my book, from wined thought and wined possibility, my eventual bottles, telling my story and having my babies and family help with everything from the wine itself to how it’s told, narrated, not sold.  Part of my message, as wine teaches me, is to be about dispelling naysay.  Or, re-writing it.  Using the existing momentum to reach what you see for self.  To be free, as I am with this write.  I’ve definitely assumed such an act and walk more so getting older, with writing and everything.  To just create, act and move.  Be free in flight and when on ground.  And those bringing that scowl and lowering tone to your standing, accept it and love it, wildly embrace it.  Then, you RE-WRITE IT.

Just typing, typing to type

Photo on 8-11-18 at 8.30 AM #2while looking around at all the people I usually see in this Windsor Starbucks.  Not taking time to look up any synonyms, or obscure anythings.  Not this morning.  Day at winery ahead of me, one of my final days, Saturdays, at the estate.  Definitely writing my wine industry piece, soon.  Citing everything I’ve observed, what I wish would have happened and what actually transpired.  Looking for more, which we all do.  More from who I already am and what I do for a living as a teacher and writer, parent.  Iced coffee this morning, wasn’t in much timing for mocha, or hot medium roast.  With the mocha it’s always the wait that bothers and disrupts my mood.  But here, I mere sip, and the cool temp calms my character and delivers more soundness and eagerness for day.

I wanted in to the wine industry, in 2006, just to supplement teaching income and have some fun, get some writing material, exposure to characters and what they say about wine, and I did.  Somehow in getting disenchanted with the adjunct teaching life I was pulled into full-time wine life.  Which has never procured exactly what I hoped it would.  In fact it never has.  So now, at 39, I re-invent not so much as decide to reshape my business and writing life.  You could say I’m ‘getting into tech’ as a couple have, but I don’t see it that way.  I’m just taking a new Road, driving the same vehicle.

What we do and why we do it MUST be understood if we’re to acquire and expand from a significant sight of Personhood.  Now, I’m seeing more in work, why we work and how all of us have the option to do something we love—  Not just the option, that reality is right there.  What many of us often forget is that we have to work to find it, at times.  And sometimes, it’s a intersection of chance and effort.  With me, a but of both, but then I’d say effort with how I “sold myself”, much I hate saying that.

New ventures, adventures, opportunities.  Take all of them.  Try everything, I say.  Guy here asked me what I write about and I had to answer, as I always do…. First I said wine, but then “What people do and why they do it… understanding why…” or something of such shape.  I’m here at this Windsor Starbucks as a result of choice and exertion.  I’m going to sell my writings, soon, and if I have nothing to write I have nothing to vend.  So listening to music and watching the characters around me enjoy their Saturday morning the life voice stomps in my recognitions, perceptions.  We’re not here long, and even the brevity isn’t assured.  It could be shorter.  None of us have any map for time, the time we have and what we’re to do, when.  So I endorse just acting, doing, actuating.

Just remembered I still need to write my resignation letter to the winery, the larger company.  I have learned a respectable qualification of lesson, what to do and what NOT to do in business.  Not stopping in my writings on wine, ever.  Just leaving the industry.  OR, not.  Just not in the tasting room, the TR.  And that was a goal, a singular aim and sight, and I accomplished it.  Guess you could say I’m proud, or happy, but there’s so much more work to do for this writer.  For all of us.  There’s poetry in what we do.  What we do is ours, all of it, all scenic ingredients and motions, people and beats.  Just typing, typing to keep my morning in the momentum and deconstructive dash I adore.  What we do, why we do it….  Why have I been in the wine industry so long? Much I think is, was, from a certain self-doubt that I couldn’t get a post like the one I recently won.  Till I tried.  Till I took a risk, till I convinced myself that I was good enough for something other than the bloody tasting room.  So here I am, about to open a new book, write a new log of discoveries and musings, angular considerations and revolutions, tasks and work and creative— more than what the time clock, any time clock, or punch clock that punches you back in the dignity-face could say.  Newness, new seats and notes, chords and songs, new jazz to a single day.

The struggles I’ve had with writing, lately, I directly associate with the tasting room and the clock, the time clock.  I’m freeing myself from all of that.  This new business flight, changing me, already, and I haven’t even had my first day.  I’m in a rarely elevated echo, this morning.  Not only fearing nothing but going into the day daring it to do something, to try me, return my pugilistic blips, if it dare.  I’m writing to write, for my life and understanding of all this— why I am here, why I’ve let the wine industry have so much of ME. My life, time away from family, the days and the people that want to be poured for, served, looking at me like I’m microscopic in significance.  Oh… this day.  This new ME.  Finally.. bloody rising from the patterns and suppression of wine’s industry.  Not qualms with the industry as much as some people in it.  And again, I’m not leaving wine. Never would, as wine’s a literary presence, self-personifying cosmos and composition of thought and ambition, vision, dreams.  The industry is what loses me.  All its inconsistencies and ridiculous logic and connections in business and employee treatment.  I will write that wine industry book, soon, at some point, soon.

First thousand— not word counting.  Hate that I do that with students, sometimes.  And how the department has such so stressed in their course outlines.  That is hurtful in student development, writing.  Me, this morning… I’m just writing, typing, more freedom and intoxication in this freed and freeing liberty.

8/11/18

I’m moving with unusual confidence this morning. 

img_4825Bobbing my head to this beat, my beat, the beat of this music and the writing itself with all these people around me, wondering what I’m writing, I’m sure, or not.  Doesn’t matter to me as I’m doing it, my IT.  As I lecture on essays and structure, I see today as a new thesis, a new experimentation with form and paragraph balance, punctuation and words.  The morning, a bacciferous manifest.  I keep bobbing my head to my new song, track after tack in under ten minutes here at the coffee shop.

I know Mike Madigan better than I ever have, today.  Just with this morning.  Some feeling or mood, some inward jot and elevation that consumed my life, every inch and parcel to it.  I have a drive ahead of me, and I know I’ll be with thirsty ache for pen, paper.  Let the ideas cook, simmer and set, settle.  ‘Cause I will settle for NOTHING with this brief time I have alive.  Nothing.  My oeuvre oscillates, giving me more momentum.

This is addictive, I can tell.  When I feel like this first thing in the morning and attains new way and wave to page.  Imagine… everything is yours.  All of it.

Wait, you don’t have to paint any visions in head.  It is.  It already is.  Right in front of you.  Right now. 

Newness Addiction and Dealing

Struggling to wake.  Literally fighting my self and sleep.

But I eventually make my way off the couch— sleeping there as Emma requested be with Mama.  At kitchen counter and thinking about something a manager said yesterday about a billionaire businessman.  “…You know, he didnt’t befome one of the richest people in the world by waking up at eleven… this guy gets up at six every morning…” I take a deep glug of the coffee I made last night, now cold, and charge into my day.  06:21.  Not billionaire time but close.  Or not that close but…  Today is a Self-motivating Fire and fest, where I will negate the concept of ‘best’.  Why and how— As I’ll always outdo myself from here forward.  Only words, my photos, my self-propelling sentences.  Slept well last night as ready for this day at the winery where we are to clean up post-fuego.  I don’t imagine us being there too long cleaning, so when the others leave I’ll stay— articles, Words, essays, entries…. more pictures, capture everything I can…. market ME.

Another business blogger I somewhat follow says, or said once in one of his posts, that before working on your brand you need to master yourSELF as a brand, first and with the most ferocity.  Those are actually my words but translating the essence of what he intoned.  That’s what today is all around revolved.

Deep pour into core, my coffee nearly done.  Thinking like a billionaire.  Not that I want to be one, necessarily, but the mentality and work practice and correct vortex, methodology is a boon.  Especially at this point in my existential graph.

Nothing niche in this thought composition, anatomy.  My time still in its respective velocity and cosmos.  I’m going to do and attain and persist in everything I envision and summon, today and ALL days.

Only cluster shot from yesterday. Fruit still on vine, fruit still to harvest, pick, another obvious nudge from my story.

Newness Addiction and Dealing

Struggling to wake.  Literally fighting my self and sleep.

But I eventually make my way off the couch— sleeping there as Emma requested be with Mama.  At kitchen counter and thinking about something a manager said yesterday about a billionaire businessman.  “…You know, he didnt’t befome one of the richest people in the world by waking up at eleven… this guy gets up at six every morning…” I take a deep glug of the coffee I made last night, now cold, and charge into my day.  06:21.  Not billionaire time but close.  Or not that close but…  Today is a Self-motivating Fire and fest, where I will negate the concept of ‘best’.  Why and how— As I’ll always outdo myself from here forward.  Only words, my photos, my self-propelling sentences.  Slept well last night as ready for this day at the winery where we are to clean up post-fuego.  I don’t imagine us being there too long cleaning, so when the others leave I’ll stay— articles, Words, essays, entries…. more pictures, capture everything I can…. market ME.

Another business blogger I somewhat follow says, or said once in one of his posts, that before working on your brand you need to master yourSELF as a brand, first and with the most ferocity.  Those are actually my words but translating the essence of what he intoned.  That’s what today is all around revolved.

Deep pour into core, my coffee nearly done.  Thinking like a billionaire.  Not that I want to be one, necessarily, but the mentality and work practice and correct vortex, methodology is a boon.  Especially at this point in my existential graph.

Nothing niche in this thought composition, anatomy.  My time still in its respective velocity and cosmos.  I’m going to do and attain and persist in everything I envision and summon, today and ALL days.

Only cluster shot from yesterday. Fruit still on vine, fruit still to harvest, pick, another obvious nudge from my story.

excerpt from 5am session

…we had fruit land yesterday, Pinot Gris if I’m not mistaken.  Wrote the other night that I’ll be like them, the vineyard crews and winemaking teams up and out early to get their prizes from the vines and truck it to the scales for record, then to presses.  Now I am very much awake, certainly more than when I started this entry.  Capture everything.  Book HAS TO BE DONE by harvest’s end.  And by “harvest” I mean Roth’s.  When the last fruit comes in, I will have a collected cannon of these inward jots… this writing father.  I will be one of them, the harvesters.  up early.  I miss my rise, I miss my prize, my fruit, what I need to make books, as they can’t miss the pull ‘cause then, well, no wine.  No wine, no job.  No job, then, you know… you know.

05:34 and I find more freedom in this sitting than I have in most if not the total sum of all in the rearview’d three or so months.  I’m here on this couch in the dark when most are asleep and hitting the snooze button.  Wife and I are up, working toward not so much goals but readjustments, our rewrites.  Well, I can’t speak for her, but me definitely.  How much can I write before she returns home dripping and now always with a coffee for her writing hus’.  Could use the coffee now but actually don’t yearn its heat and comfort and wholly persuasive code…

In a mood right now but you know

what….

I know people don’t want to hear or read about that.  Snap out of it…. concentrate on what strengths and fires already drive my character.

Stabilized…. situated.  Cemented in my new sensibilities.

No… No.

I’m changing this…..  Creativity solves EVERYTHING.

inward jot

img_0541One of those mornings where everything is on your mind.  Everything… the future, money, kids, money, work, the future, more money, when will you get a run in—  Just fucking STOP.  I decided to come here to Peet’s coffee.  No table when I walked in, not for me at which to station so I thought, “Oh great, just what the morning would have for me, bloody nothing.”  But after the wait for the mocha, I saw this corner table, the one I was hoping avalyaibe finally boast its unoccupied reality.  So I’m here, thinking not of troubles but potential.  The potential to sell writing, sell wine, sell me as a brand and tireless writer, to change everything.  The other day I started a 365-day project for me, which would take me into the last days of January ’18.  Today’s day 4, and Day ONE of this rebuilding.  Rebuilding of attitude, of outlook, of projects.  First major push, run more often.  I’ll be at the gym tonight on treadmill and I won’t leave till I have 7 miles logged.  “So, eat light today,” I tell myself.  Won’t starve, but won’t stuff self either.  Then, tomorrow, a morning where I lecture, wake at 4, to give self writing time before class.  This is not a joke or one of my usual ‘I’m gonna do this’ promises.  This has to happen.  Putting this writing frame in a life-or-death perception and fancying relativity.  Two from 40, that’s how I have to treat it or nothing will change.

Listening to Hutcherson, “Waiting”, one of my favorite tracks of his.  And how appropriate, as I’m bloody done waiting for anything.  I’m going to take everything I want, starting today.  Just had an idea… motivating or hoisting haikus, 3, sell for $1.  Why not?  Just as an experiment.  See if I can sell.  Something before day’s end.  Have to think more like a business person, and less like a writer.  I’ll always write, but I’m demonstrating more business sense today.  Re-Writing how I talk about the wines, how I personify them, and what foods I’d pair them with.  I’m to sell by not-selling.  That is, elevate the mood of the person on the other side of the bar.  Show them, not convince them, that their day is better for being there.  Not that I’m to credit, but to robustly expose the positivity and yay-saying rows of the moment.

I so very, very much needed this moment of collection.  We all need to.  We need to collect more often, not make such a big deal of everything.  I noticed when arriving at kids’ school that we just got there—  “Where did the drive go?” I thought.  “You know where it went,” I said, “you spent it being pissed off, grumpy, quiet.” Taking Emma from her car seat she looked up at me and spoke, in her entangled goo of syllables.  “What am I doing?” I thought, being

grumpy as I was.  I’ll miss today, their childhood, my whole fucking life if I continue like this.  So…. STOP.  Already see Self on treadmill later, rushing toward mile 7 and writing new haikus, thinking of my babies, how Day 4/1 was utterly controlled by this writing father.