A blend of Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, and Zin. I like the name of this blend, “Libertine,” denoting and connoting a certain freedom, lawlessness. Not sure if such can be executed in a bottle of wine. Soon to see.
On the nose I’m approached by leathery fruit and spice. The quality and intensity of which does not humble me. I simply recognize, and move on. As I sip, I notice easy tannins, and a stronger ballad of notes on the finish. These notes being the leather, spice, red berries, earth (maybe). A bit too light for a blend.
I can see why they called it The Libertine. But, it leaves me with a certain imbalance of palate and appreciation, reflection. This imbalance provokes me to think of what exactly is parading on my palate? I’ve identified notes, but what character do they deliver? What character is in this bottle? She’s shy, no seduction.
Now, a handful of moments later, a bubble or two of blueberry, maybe. Interesting, but also frustrating. Don’t feel like this bottle is unveiling any distinctive personality. Entangled and impatient, me. Quite drinkable, but not capable of clattering your composure. Am I enjoying it, yes. But, again, I am not moved, shown the ways of a true freethinking, bottled, Libertine. Lost in its lawlessness, exhausted searching for charisma.
GRADE: B-
Review Composed on Th. 1/28/2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday January 20, 2010. First day back in the classroom. My workday on Wednesday and Friday ends at 10:40a. Today, I thought’s I’d be restless, maybe even depressed. Not at all. This semester will see more entries from me than any other period. Wine has really shifted my creative emphasis. Hopefully it will take me to a certain paradise. The storm that has been hitting the Bay, and much of CA, for the last few days, presently, and the days approaching, is like nothing I have ever seen. Just got off the phone with Alice. She informed me that they closed the school at which she teaches, because of the storm which carries an ample dose of thunder and lightening. Tonight is supposed to bring a collection of intense cells, which also carry the thunder & lightening trait. Tomorrow, what will I do? Haven’t had a mocha yet today. Need a little snooze. Will try to write later. Need to get some mss ready for submission. That’s another item on my to-do list for the morrow. One more thing, I see something new in the Room that I want to explore. What is that? The picture-takers, how they roam around the grounds, and around the Room, photographing even the most ridiculous and insignificant of sights, objects.
6:20p. Been awake for about two hours. Thrilled that I have tomorrow off. Want to stay on top of everything this term, even if it’s my last. Tomorrow, keeping with the tradition of submission, I will assemble a packet to pitch to agents. Didn’t have a mocha today, and it didn’t affect me too tremendously. Want to get into the role of the poet this night. All the time, especially when driving, I fiddle with schemes of rhyme. And now, what else can this penman do, but stew. Need to look over my deadlines tonight, or tomorrow. Yes, tonight, I will. I have to.
Thunder and lightening, tonight? I don’t think so. That’s my prediction. Can’t believe that weather is sensationalized by these news stations. What happened to journalistic integrity? Need to put my Self somewhere different tomorrow when I write. Just staying here in this condo, or going to the same coffee houses, is pasting my pages with blandness. And I’m sick of it.
Feel like giving my Self an assignment for tonight. But I’m afraid I won’t finish. Feeling lazy. Have to write my way through and out of this stall. I begin with my childhood aim of becoming a paleontologist. What made me shift away from that? Easy, I grew up. I loved dinosaurs. Don’t find them too intriguing now, but I do remember how it felt, my first intense interest. I would even say my first passion. Well, no, more like a mini-passion.
So many notes in this little flip-pad, on the Room. I wonder what the Room is like at other wineries, what it would be like to be a fly on the wall at, say, Imagery. Hmm, a possible assignment for tomorrow. I don’t think this would be a wasted effort at all. I am writing for my life. I must chose my steps carefully, surgically. This log, not a blog, is a step in a direction most lucrative. What if I do incorporate my own hospitality operation into this Lit Life? Someone today was talking to me about a restaurant that started as a wine retail brokerage. Think that’s what you’d call it. Had a thought last night about starting a podcast. Without boring you with the deliberation, I vote, most fervently, no. I want to be a writer, not a personality. But, I will be a character, with a charismatic character, vis-a-vis these entries.
Watching “Basic Instinct” again. Maybe it will prompt me to take a certain turn with my fiction. A cop novel? Not necessarily, but find someone to use as a character. Become a spy, have the subject be my specimen. The subject would have to be female, because, as I’ve said, men are too simple, one-sided, dull.
6:20p. Been awake for about two hours. Thrilled that I have tomorrow off. Want to stay on top of everything this term, even if it’s my last. Tomorrow, keeping with the tradition of submission, I will assemble a packet to pitch to agents. Didn’t have a mocha today, and it didn’t affect me too tremendously. Want to get into the role of the poet this night. All the time, especially when driving, I fiddle with schemes of rhyme. And now, what else can this penman do, but stew. Need to look over my deadlines tonight, or tomorrow. Yes, tonight, I will. I have to.
Thunder and lightening, tonight? I don’t think so. That’s my prediction. Can’t believe that weather is sensationalized by these news stations. What happened to journalistic integrity? Need to put my Self somewhere different tomorrow when I write. Just staying here in this condo, or going to the same coffee houses, is pasting my pages with blandness. And I’m sick of it.
Feel like giving my Self an assignment for tonight. But I’m afraid I won’t finish. Feeling lazy. Have to write my way through and out of this stall. I begin with my childhood aim of becoming a paleontologist. What made me shift away from that? Easy, I grew up. I loved dinosaurs. Don’t find them too intriguing now, but I do remember how it felt, my first intense interest. I would even say my first passion. Well, no, more like a mini-passion.
So many notes in this little flip-pad, on the Room. I wonder what the Room is like at other wineries, what it would be like to be a fly on the wall at, say, Imagery. Hmm, a possible assignment for tomorrow. I don’t think this would be a wasted effort at all. I am writing for my life. I must chose my steps carefully, surgically. This log, not a blog, is a step in a direction most lucrative. What if I do incorporate my own hospitality operation into this Lit Life? Someone today was talking to me about a restaurant that started as a wine retail brokerage. Think that’s what you’d call it. Had a thought last night about starting a podcast. Without boring you with the deliberation, I vote, most fervently, no. I want to be a writer, not a personality. But, I will be a character, with a charismatic character, vis-a-vis these entries.
Watching “Basic Instinct” again. Maybe it will prompt me to take a certain turn with my fiction. A cop novel? Not necessarily, but find someone to use as a character. Become a spy, have the subject be my specimen. The subject would have to be female, because, as I’ve said, men are too simple, one-sided, dull.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Review of 2000 Westwood Pinot Noir, Haynes Vineyard, Napa Valley
First thing I notice, the simple yet elegant label, with undeniable artistic merit in its black tree and off-white background. Love the W on the foil, right atop the cork. The cork has the vintage printed, or branded, on it; it’s the first thing I see after removing the foil. Smelling cork, floral and earthy notes. Pouring. Light color. It looks like my old stereotype of a Pinot. Melodic nose of earth, a subtle vegetable characteristic, red berry, cherry. Giving it a few swirls. Letting it sit for a couple.
Now on nose, the above notes with smoke and damp oak. Sipping. The mouthfeel and mid-palate are gentle, slightly syrup in delivery. Almost too gentle, but otherwise wonderful. Nice fruit and dexterity. Now this bottle’s balance is beginning to really show itself. The finish, wonderful. It has a certain shyness, especially with the earthy and veggie tones, some strawberry. Vanilla presence seems to aid the longevity of this bottle’s back-palate and finish. Perfect concert among these aspects. Like a lingering and flirtatious apparition on my palate. Want to take another sip, but also don’t. Not yet.
I’m pleasantly proven wrong with this bottle, and I say that because of that old stereotype I embraced, which prohibited me from enjoying this varietal. People enjoying Pinot, who want to fully appreciate its splendor, have to work to adequately relish it. But, now I understand, this labor is the nucleus of Pinot’s allure. My palate, enjoys a challenge, a maze, a mystery. So I’m home.
Tasting this 2000 was truly an honor. I have to admit, I was a tad timid. This winery, and bottle, have shown me something about Pinots, and something about my understanding of wine in general, truly. Another characteristic I like about this bottle is the alcohol content of 13.5%. The fruit trumps any hotness, or obnoxious tannic turmoil.
Going to investigate this winery further, see what else they have for we in adoration of wine.
GRADE: A-
Review composed on Wed. 1/20/10
Now on nose, the above notes with smoke and damp oak. Sipping. The mouthfeel and mid-palate are gentle, slightly syrup in delivery. Almost too gentle, but otherwise wonderful. Nice fruit and dexterity. Now this bottle’s balance is beginning to really show itself. The finish, wonderful. It has a certain shyness, especially with the earthy and veggie tones, some strawberry. Vanilla presence seems to aid the longevity of this bottle’s back-palate and finish. Perfect concert among these aspects. Like a lingering and flirtatious apparition on my palate. Want to take another sip, but also don’t. Not yet.
I’m pleasantly proven wrong with this bottle, and I say that because of that old stereotype I embraced, which prohibited me from enjoying this varietal. People enjoying Pinot, who want to fully appreciate its splendor, have to work to adequately relish it. But, now I understand, this labor is the nucleus of Pinot’s allure. My palate, enjoys a challenge, a maze, a mystery. So I’m home.
Tasting this 2000 was truly an honor. I have to admit, I was a tad timid. This winery, and bottle, have shown me something about Pinots, and something about my understanding of wine in general, truly. Another characteristic I like about this bottle is the alcohol content of 13.5%. The fruit trumps any hotness, or obnoxious tannic turmoil.
Going to investigate this winery further, see what else they have for we in adoration of wine.
GRADE: A-
Review composed on Wed. 1/20/10
Dizzy. Storms, Wine, the Whole Mikey Thing.
sat.1-16-2010: Running out of ideas for ways the date can look. Lazy day. Needed. Especially when you consider it’s back to teaching next week. Must say, I am a little eager to be back in that room. Have some ideas this time w/English 90. Going to season my lectures in a very engaging and unique, creative way. Still need to get some stuff off my old computer. No need to stress, I’m telling my Self. Slow, steady. Can’t rush with this leviathan that is technology.
Just transferred one of the bigger documents, one of most crucial. Didn’t write at all yesterday, which was good. I needed the day off. Tonight, finishing a poem I started today. Planning on circulating it to mags, contests even.
Lots of rain expected for the coming week, and even beyond. Sent out short story #3, “Rush to Resolution,” today. Have about ten submissions out in the literary world. No rejections yet. See how long that lasts. Back in the Room for the morrow. Most of my short story collection will be centered around the Room, and the other room, the classroom. Not sure what to expect this semester. English 90. It can be rewarding, right? Of course. Need to change my attitude. Roger was right, that is my biggest problem. I can hear cars outside, the wheels whisking through soaked streets, the drops in the gutter, or drain, on the other side of this wall in front of me.
Was thinking again of my restaurant, or wine bar. I would offer a champagne menu, or pairing options. Was reading today about a world-famous chef. He was interviewed, and the way he spoke of cuisine, and menu composition, wine, apps. All fascinating. The passion was humbling. Writing for a wine magazine, a wine & food publication of any kind, hmmmm....
11:21pm. Have a bit of a goal for the Self. Taste a different wine everyday, and write a detailed review. Has to produce a ripple or two, three. We’ll see, dearest reader. I will review a different bottle, from a different winery each day. Have to be as inclusive and comprehensive as I’m able. Already have a couple candidates in my scope. Napa, Sonoma, Monterey, Paso Robles, Santa Barbara, Lodi. I will spread where ever the budget me releases.
11:29pm. If 31 is what I will be, then what can I do? I’ll simply continue carelessly, and artistically as me, Mikey. Mike. I’m Mike. You know, the Mikey thing never was agreeably till Alice entered my days. Now, don’t mind so much. Students, though, not welcomed to call me by such. What should be my first bottle for this organized and systematic review? How about that 2001 Barbaresco that my buddy Mike bought me some time ago? Sounds lovely. That is what is scheduled for the Monday that this way sails.
Just checked my voicemail. A message from a student, disappointed that he has not received his paper in the mail with my comments. He also stated that he’s been in contact with other students from class, concerned that I haven’t responded to their emails. This student is from SCC. I don’t teach there anymore. Hence, I don’t check that email any longer. The student who actually had the gall to call, received an A. Why is there a problem that he hasn’t received his paper? I said that last semester was my last. This one approaching, Spring 2010, truly my final.
Sunday Jan. 17th, ’10 - Today in the Room, insane, to be modest, not entirely honest. So busy I only took two Room notes. One young lady was scouting locations for her wedding. Tired, almost too much exhaustion about me to write.
The wine I’m reviewing tonight, 2005 Malbec, from St. Francis, McCoy Vineyard. Overall, I’m rating it a B. The nose and front of the palate are something of note, but the mouthfeel and mid-palate, and back-palate/finish seem lackluster in presence. Is it drinkable? Yes, quite. But it is not of excellent or remarkable quality. I would expand in this review, I’m just too tired to do so. My goal, to review three different wines a week. They can be of the same varietal, AVA, vintage, anything else, just not from the same winery. That is my beginning requisite.
Last night I had a Sonoma County Zin from Sebastiani. 2006, I think. It was great. Not going to assign it a grade, but it remains in my thoughts. Might take a trip out to Seb on Tuesday, assuming my syllabi are done. Want to prepare a few lectures, additionally. Hoping this term is more agreeable than last. I’m giving teaching one last mission. That final mission, is Spring 2010.
Today, the first of 5 storms hit, is still hitting. I’m excited about this impending precipitation. Rain is music, therapy. Each day of rainfall is its own lecture. You know, I used to view rain as a bother. I’ve grown out of narrow mindedness. Thinking I should jump back to that Sebastiani Zinfandel. Tired of this malady Malbec.
Okay, sipping the Seb. Tasted better last night. Might dump this. Listening to some trip-hop I downloaded before winter break. I effortlessly imagine this playing at my wine bar. Lights low, red, purple. The goal of my spot, relaxation. Responsible retreat. Not sure I would serve hard alcohol. Yes, I have a certain prejudice with liquor. Wine, beer, no objection. When you serve liquid of 40% or more, even slightly less, you could have a different stage, perhaps an unpleasant one. Wine and beer, some port, that’s it. Just thought of an interesting name, “whoso.” I take this from Emerson’s line “Whoso be a man must be a nonconformist,” from his landmark essay “Self-Reliance.” Think I’m clocking out. Nothing in this author left. Peace and thought. -Mike
Monday January 18, 2010. Only fifteen minutes to write. I’m off to the Room. Outside, another round of tempest pounds Yulupa Avenue, Santa Rosa, much of the Bay. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy. Tonight, I must finish my syllabi. Planning on having a test run tomorrow, in terms of when I wake up. Mondays and Wednesdays I have a section that starts at 7:30a. The rain is really coming down now. I’m actually a little spooked. So loud, forcefully, vengeful. Ugh, if only I could just stay inside and write all day. Anyway, yes. Tomorrow I will act as though it is a M or W, waking at 5:40a. I will drive out to NVC, to make copies of my required documents. Also, need to write lectures for the first day, week. You should hear this rain. Mother Nature is pissed, about something. I can feel my adrenaline tumble in all my channels. Nine minutes till departure.
California is a funny state. It’s like a gameboard. Depending on where you land, you have a certain existence, certain encounters, periods of development. I don’t know if I see my Self ever living in another state. I would like to one day have either an apartment or condo in Manhattan (I know, dream on Mikey...) I don’t think I’ve seen anything, in terms of the world. Yes, I went to Paris last year, but that’s not what I mean. What I’m addressing is just venturing, pen and pad, and a bag of curiosity. No plans.
Five minutes. The mocha is wearing off. Only have to put in five hours. I think the first lecture will address intention, what the student wants, a certain promotion of sovereignty. I still will maintain my defiant nature in the classroom, at whichever institution I instruct. Giving this ONE MORE TRY. Also want to preview, in lecture 1, Vonnegut’s “How to Write with Style,” showing students there is only one YOU. And that ‘YOU’ must develop its own style, voice. Write from your heart. Cheesy as it sounds, that’s the best way to establish your Self. Time for departure.
8:34p. Been home for a couple hours. Will upload my second wine review tomorrow. Drinking the review bottle right now. Can’t divulge any more than that. Today in the Room, took more notes that I ever have, I think. All I can share right now, I work with an incomparable crew of colleagues. If I had a set of co-workers even slightly resembling past workplaces of mine, I wouldn’t even give fucking notice, I would walk out. I wonder how many work at wineries with a deplorable cast.
Need to finish everything tomorrow. Syllabi, manuscript objectives, organization of the workplace here in my domicile. What if this semester is triumphant, restores my confidence in education, today’s matriculants? What if reveals the joys of the other room, the classroom of the community college. What if that room coaxes me to award it a capital, becoming a Room, no longer a room? The second Room?
Really realizing the reality that resonates in the Room. There is a book, maybe more, in there. Perhaps I shouldn’t shoot for a short story collection now. Quite plausible that now is the most advantageous artery to the novel. Don’t want, or I should say wouldn’t want, it to be obnoxiously long. To start, Mike Madigan isn’t enough interesting a character to write some Harry Potter-stretched opus. I estimate me to be deserving of about 140-150 pages, max.
Reading over this “blog.” Noticing typo over typo. Angry with Self. But why? I’m Human.
Thought I erased a huge portion of this log, but I didn’t save, thankfully. Fucking devilish technology. Anyway, the typos. This is a log, a journal, something I’m choosing to share. Critics that want to critique, speak your cynicism in the street, devil. Need to diffuse my disdain. I sprint to subsist as a poised person of the pen. So calm down, Mikey.
Not sure how much more I can type. Won’t fabricate, I’m completely depleted. Going to fetch another pour.
The last of spills for this p.m. before me. Someone else told me that I should consider writing a vampire novel. Are you fucking joking me? I should write this, that. I should market my writing this way, that. Everyone, shut your fucking bill. My extremism with this Craft can never be commanded. This latest glass, complimenting my vigor, I think. But what do I know? What if I have the same despicable entitlement as my students? Put a stake in my ticker, please, if that is so. Be 2010 the year of my venom, the ANTILEGAL’s annexation.
The TV on. I should turn it off. All the pop culture programing, poison. Keep typing, with a turmoil of tenacity. Antithesis of idol, me. My entries, hopefully, like a flirtatious viticultural concoction. Struggling to 1k. You know what, I shouldn’t have to hold my Self to a word amount. Quality over...nevermind. I’m beginning to see wine as more of a aesthetic contortion than a beverage. What does that mean? Fuck if I know. Forgive me for being too Human. Are the pours catching up with me? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not to be acknowledged, read. I dare critics to accost me.
Just turned to A&E. Watching some ghost hunter show. Wow, this is comical. Usually this subject matter frightens me. But this, this program, humorous in a way that I have never known. This episode deals with a poltergeist. Is that what you call it? Anyway, someone reports seeing weird spectacles , shadows. Inflammatory descriptions, odd music and effects. Give me a break. I’m still watching, internally debunking such shows. Now they’re ripping up a wall, searching for what?
This topic tires me. Might go tasting tomorrow, after finalizing my syllabi, of course. I’m not trying to be a Robert Parker, anything like him. He’s a pretentious boner. I just want to link wine and writing in a manner that is both educating as well as enriching (yes, the two are not always synonymous).
Where’s the rest of this menacing torment that the forecast prognosticated? Hear nothing outside. Bored. Over 1k, in this doc, I’m certain. I should stop, but I don’t want to. Want to eviscerate certain wine club members in this entry, but I won’t. Watching the news sensationalizing the weather patterns now hitting CA. These news channels, so transparent with their intentions. Me, obvious as well, no better. Do I have intentions? Ummm....
The news, using the word “storm” in a callous and cavalier manner. Storms 1 through 5. Give me a break. These aren’t storms, they’re cells, at best. The jet stream is 250 mph. Please. That’s right, get your ratings, shameless goons.
Just transferred one of the bigger documents, one of most crucial. Didn’t write at all yesterday, which was good. I needed the day off. Tonight, finishing a poem I started today. Planning on circulating it to mags, contests even.
Lots of rain expected for the coming week, and even beyond. Sent out short story #3, “Rush to Resolution,” today. Have about ten submissions out in the literary world. No rejections yet. See how long that lasts. Back in the Room for the morrow. Most of my short story collection will be centered around the Room, and the other room, the classroom. Not sure what to expect this semester. English 90. It can be rewarding, right? Of course. Need to change my attitude. Roger was right, that is my biggest problem. I can hear cars outside, the wheels whisking through soaked streets, the drops in the gutter, or drain, on the other side of this wall in front of me.
Was thinking again of my restaurant, or wine bar. I would offer a champagne menu, or pairing options. Was reading today about a world-famous chef. He was interviewed, and the way he spoke of cuisine, and menu composition, wine, apps. All fascinating. The passion was humbling. Writing for a wine magazine, a wine & food publication of any kind, hmmmm....
11:21pm. Have a bit of a goal for the Self. Taste a different wine everyday, and write a detailed review. Has to produce a ripple or two, three. We’ll see, dearest reader. I will review a different bottle, from a different winery each day. Have to be as inclusive and comprehensive as I’m able. Already have a couple candidates in my scope. Napa, Sonoma, Monterey, Paso Robles, Santa Barbara, Lodi. I will spread where ever the budget me releases.
11:29pm. If 31 is what I will be, then what can I do? I’ll simply continue carelessly, and artistically as me, Mikey. Mike. I’m Mike. You know, the Mikey thing never was agreeably till Alice entered my days. Now, don’t mind so much. Students, though, not welcomed to call me by such. What should be my first bottle for this organized and systematic review? How about that 2001 Barbaresco that my buddy Mike bought me some time ago? Sounds lovely. That is what is scheduled for the Monday that this way sails.
Just checked my voicemail. A message from a student, disappointed that he has not received his paper in the mail with my comments. He also stated that he’s been in contact with other students from class, concerned that I haven’t responded to their emails. This student is from SCC. I don’t teach there anymore. Hence, I don’t check that email any longer. The student who actually had the gall to call, received an A. Why is there a problem that he hasn’t received his paper? I said that last semester was my last. This one approaching, Spring 2010, truly my final.
Sunday Jan. 17th, ’10 - Today in the Room, insane, to be modest, not entirely honest. So busy I only took two Room notes. One young lady was scouting locations for her wedding. Tired, almost too much exhaustion about me to write.
The wine I’m reviewing tonight, 2005 Malbec, from St. Francis, McCoy Vineyard. Overall, I’m rating it a B. The nose and front of the palate are something of note, but the mouthfeel and mid-palate, and back-palate/finish seem lackluster in presence. Is it drinkable? Yes, quite. But it is not of excellent or remarkable quality. I would expand in this review, I’m just too tired to do so. My goal, to review three different wines a week. They can be of the same varietal, AVA, vintage, anything else, just not from the same winery. That is my beginning requisite.
Last night I had a Sonoma County Zin from Sebastiani. 2006, I think. It was great. Not going to assign it a grade, but it remains in my thoughts. Might take a trip out to Seb on Tuesday, assuming my syllabi are done. Want to prepare a few lectures, additionally. Hoping this term is more agreeable than last. I’m giving teaching one last mission. That final mission, is Spring 2010.
Today, the first of 5 storms hit, is still hitting. I’m excited about this impending precipitation. Rain is music, therapy. Each day of rainfall is its own lecture. You know, I used to view rain as a bother. I’ve grown out of narrow mindedness. Thinking I should jump back to that Sebastiani Zinfandel. Tired of this malady Malbec.
Okay, sipping the Seb. Tasted better last night. Might dump this. Listening to some trip-hop I downloaded before winter break. I effortlessly imagine this playing at my wine bar. Lights low, red, purple. The goal of my spot, relaxation. Responsible retreat. Not sure I would serve hard alcohol. Yes, I have a certain prejudice with liquor. Wine, beer, no objection. When you serve liquid of 40% or more, even slightly less, you could have a different stage, perhaps an unpleasant one. Wine and beer, some port, that’s it. Just thought of an interesting name, “whoso.” I take this from Emerson’s line “Whoso be a man must be a nonconformist,” from his landmark essay “Self-Reliance.” Think I’m clocking out. Nothing in this author left. Peace and thought. -Mike
Monday January 18, 2010. Only fifteen minutes to write. I’m off to the Room. Outside, another round of tempest pounds Yulupa Avenue, Santa Rosa, much of the Bay. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy. Tonight, I must finish my syllabi. Planning on having a test run tomorrow, in terms of when I wake up. Mondays and Wednesdays I have a section that starts at 7:30a. The rain is really coming down now. I’m actually a little spooked. So loud, forcefully, vengeful. Ugh, if only I could just stay inside and write all day. Anyway, yes. Tomorrow I will act as though it is a M or W, waking at 5:40a. I will drive out to NVC, to make copies of my required documents. Also, need to write lectures for the first day, week. You should hear this rain. Mother Nature is pissed, about something. I can feel my adrenaline tumble in all my channels. Nine minutes till departure.
California is a funny state. It’s like a gameboard. Depending on where you land, you have a certain existence, certain encounters, periods of development. I don’t know if I see my Self ever living in another state. I would like to one day have either an apartment or condo in Manhattan (I know, dream on Mikey...) I don’t think I’ve seen anything, in terms of the world. Yes, I went to Paris last year, but that’s not what I mean. What I’m addressing is just venturing, pen and pad, and a bag of curiosity. No plans.
Five minutes. The mocha is wearing off. Only have to put in five hours. I think the first lecture will address intention, what the student wants, a certain promotion of sovereignty. I still will maintain my defiant nature in the classroom, at whichever institution I instruct. Giving this ONE MORE TRY. Also want to preview, in lecture 1, Vonnegut’s “How to Write with Style,” showing students there is only one YOU. And that ‘YOU’ must develop its own style, voice. Write from your heart. Cheesy as it sounds, that’s the best way to establish your Self. Time for departure.
8:34p. Been home for a couple hours. Will upload my second wine review tomorrow. Drinking the review bottle right now. Can’t divulge any more than that. Today in the Room, took more notes that I ever have, I think. All I can share right now, I work with an incomparable crew of colleagues. If I had a set of co-workers even slightly resembling past workplaces of mine, I wouldn’t even give fucking notice, I would walk out. I wonder how many work at wineries with a deplorable cast.
Need to finish everything tomorrow. Syllabi, manuscript objectives, organization of the workplace here in my domicile. What if this semester is triumphant, restores my confidence in education, today’s matriculants? What if reveals the joys of the other room, the classroom of the community college. What if that room coaxes me to award it a capital, becoming a Room, no longer a room? The second Room?
Really realizing the reality that resonates in the Room. There is a book, maybe more, in there. Perhaps I shouldn’t shoot for a short story collection now. Quite plausible that now is the most advantageous artery to the novel. Don’t want, or I should say wouldn’t want, it to be obnoxiously long. To start, Mike Madigan isn’t enough interesting a character to write some Harry Potter-stretched opus. I estimate me to be deserving of about 140-150 pages, max.
Reading over this “blog.” Noticing typo over typo. Angry with Self. But why? I’m Human.
Thought I erased a huge portion of this log, but I didn’t save, thankfully. Fucking devilish technology. Anyway, the typos. This is a log, a journal, something I’m choosing to share. Critics that want to critique, speak your cynicism in the street, devil. Need to diffuse my disdain. I sprint to subsist as a poised person of the pen. So calm down, Mikey.
Not sure how much more I can type. Won’t fabricate, I’m completely depleted. Going to fetch another pour.
The last of spills for this p.m. before me. Someone else told me that I should consider writing a vampire novel. Are you fucking joking me? I should write this, that. I should market my writing this way, that. Everyone, shut your fucking bill. My extremism with this Craft can never be commanded. This latest glass, complimenting my vigor, I think. But what do I know? What if I have the same despicable entitlement as my students? Put a stake in my ticker, please, if that is so. Be 2010 the year of my venom, the ANTILEGAL’s annexation.
The TV on. I should turn it off. All the pop culture programing, poison. Keep typing, with a turmoil of tenacity. Antithesis of idol, me. My entries, hopefully, like a flirtatious viticultural concoction. Struggling to 1k. You know what, I shouldn’t have to hold my Self to a word amount. Quality over...nevermind. I’m beginning to see wine as more of a aesthetic contortion than a beverage. What does that mean? Fuck if I know. Forgive me for being too Human. Are the pours catching up with me? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not to be acknowledged, read. I dare critics to accost me.
Just turned to A&E. Watching some ghost hunter show. Wow, this is comical. Usually this subject matter frightens me. But this, this program, humorous in a way that I have never known. This episode deals with a poltergeist. Is that what you call it? Anyway, someone reports seeing weird spectacles , shadows. Inflammatory descriptions, odd music and effects. Give me a break. I’m still watching, internally debunking such shows. Now they’re ripping up a wall, searching for what?
This topic tires me. Might go tasting tomorrow, after finalizing my syllabi, of course. I’m not trying to be a Robert Parker, anything like him. He’s a pretentious boner. I just want to link wine and writing in a manner that is both educating as well as enriching (yes, the two are not always synonymous).
Where’s the rest of this menacing torment that the forecast prognosticated? Hear nothing outside. Bored. Over 1k, in this doc, I’m certain. I should stop, but I don’t want to. Want to eviscerate certain wine club members in this entry, but I won’t. Watching the news sensationalizing the weather patterns now hitting CA. These news channels, so transparent with their intentions. Me, obvious as well, no better. Do I have intentions? Ummm....
The news, using the word “storm” in a callous and cavalier manner. Storms 1 through 5. Give me a break. These aren’t storms, they’re cells, at best. The jet stream is 250 mph. Please. That’s right, get your ratings, shameless goons.
Friday, January 15, 2010
typos
Friday December 25, 2009. Christmas here, but then tomorrow away. Time, so harsh on us, especially us writers. The moments past us soar faster than we can scribe. I have decided to devote my Self entirely to the short story. The novel will later come, and it will. Just put together a rough, rough, rough draft of short. Not sure how good it is, presently, but that’s why I say it is rough(x3). Sunriver, so still, so full of peace here. Much more agreeable in terms of pace than my home of Santa Rosa.
Still find my Self having an entrepreneurial itch for hospitality, for restaurateurism, for the pairing of wine and cuisine. Where this will take me, not sure. Well, I have an idea, a hope actually. I want more shorts connected to the industry, so I’m not always writing about writing. Get so bored of composing on the life of composition. My wonderful parents purchased Alice and I a gift certificate for an outstanding Sonoma County dining experience, a restaurant by the name of “Farmhouse.” They were quite generous with the amount, but more so with how the gift was packaged. They included a menu, which reminds me and reiterates the immeasurable genius behind a strong chef. This menu includes dishes that I have never in my days tried, but am now entirely indecisive as to which I would select if seated there now.
A restaurant, like a baby, one’s offspring. Starts off one way, a year down the road hopefully stronger, established. I need a chef character. Derrick. His restaurant, the Quail. Yes, he serves a special Quail recipe, but is also recognized for his expertise with certain light pastas and his extensive wine selection and background. See where this goes.
I looked up, last night, a recipe for stuffed mushrooms. I will start with this arrangement, and then experiment to make it my own. I must attempt cooking a little in order to provide readers a believable culinary character.
Saturday December 26, 2009. Over 1k for the day. Working on my sixth short story, that’s where all of this day’s thousand went. Now, I connect with this lazy log. A new routine? I can only hope. I wrote one of my favorite writers yesterday. My aim to get some advice, some magic words that would put me on a fucking path, already. Well, I did. I titled my email to this nameless noble “In need of Impetus…Idea drought!” Essentially I asked C, that’s what I’ll call the author, how I can stay on one project, and not always be distracted. C responded by saying: “Being all over the place is a great way to never finish anything!” What brutal, and much needed, candor. I am rejuvenated. Thank you, C. After receiving the email, I finished short #5. Short stories are my practice, my Craft now. Again, a novel will come, but not now. Probably not soon. Selling the little tales will propel me, I hope, through and out of the staleness of reality.
Not looking forward to leaving this beautiful Sunriver stage. Wait, I have six more full days here (six?), why am I writing about leaving. Went for a jog this morning, with a crisp, unfamiliar 19 degree atmosphere. The altitude took a terrible toll on my lungs, and legs. Just glad I made my Self exercise.
Still thinking about restaurants, the world thereof, wine, dinning, fine dinning that is, and hospitality. Why, I don’t know. Am I being immature? Am I fantasizing? Teaching has disappointed me in ways that I never envisioned, when I was working on my little M.A. at CSUEB. Restaurants, wine, the menus, the patrons. Fascinating. There has to be a better word than that. Wait…beguiling. Getting a little loony, as I’ve been writing most of the day. Time for rest, reading. (4:19pm)
Wednesday December 30, 2009. Two days left in this 2009 chapter. Yesterday, snow fell, as if some belated gift, as if some benevolent giver wanted to over-give. Out the window, all I see is white, gentle, but still forceful with temperature and texture. Last night, I wouldn’t let myself rest until I reached achieved a 1000 word installment in short #6. Thinking of the snow shoeing mission the other day, in the territory of Mt. Bachelor. That’s what I mean by getting “out there,” doing something different, out of character.
For 2010, my short stories, and perhaps a few essays. This, even more solidified following the program I saw on PBS on Louisa May Alcott. Her tireless execution, project after project, making time only for sleep and runs in the woods. Distracted by the outside blusters pushing snow from branches. Going to miss Sunriver, when I depart in three days. But, dearest reader, I am ready to return to SoCo, ready to enact this new practice, become known as the most dedicated and successful penman of the short story. Audacious, I know. But, my true aim has hereby been disclosed.
Should I go for a walk? The sun is pushing the clouds aside, like a water buffalo (or whatever) annoyed by attacking predators.
5:29pm. Back from another session of snow shoeing, down by the lodge. Had a glass of Ranch Zabacco afterwards. Love the bar at the lodge, “Owl’s Nest.” Stopped at just beyond 2500 words in short #6. The reason I halted there is because I don’t want to force the story, rush it. Which I think is somewhat pragmatic. I’m not sure what to make of Sunriver. Of course, it’s lovely, paradisiacal I would offer. But, is it somewhat blinding, or distracting. I may be looking too much into this thought. Vacation is wonderful, it is altogether necessary.
Feel my prose pulsating in my very matter. Whatever that means. Tired from the walking, and the snow shoveling this a.m. Break.
Tuesday January 12, 2010. Finally, typing again. Curse this abominable technology, what it does to us. Just had this little monstrous laptop returned to my possession last night. Had an acquaintance of mine, Patrick, work on it since Thursday, to remove the most venomous of viruses. Today, I will be purchasing an Apple computer. Done with Windows.
Raining outside, been up since 5a. Hate it when I wake up so early, but not on days off. It’s lovely. This entire day belongs to me. Feels odd typing again. Get over it, Mike. Anyway, the semester begins next Wednesday. Am I excited? What do you think. Today, what else should I do with the next twelve or so hours?
Wine, on the brain. It wouldn’t be so bad to take a drive up to Dry Creek. Never done it before, at least not on my own. Also, need to finish short 6. Not much of a day off. Fingers of fog slithering through the trees, over the green hills outside. Boring, boring, boring, what I’m writing presently. Not going to delete it. Give me a minute…
Noticing some lingering oddities with this fucking laptop. So glad I have that significant stash of specie. Currently, I have $1500. I remember calling it my fun fund. Well, this new computer will be fun, but it will also be productive. It is more than necessary. So glad I’ve held onto those envelopes. All of them, bursting with the currency that will relieve this stress of mine.
9:37p. On the new laptop. Lovely, animated, a certain technological bliss, relief. Strange. Different, still getting used to the new world in which I type. My fingers are weary with these keys. Enough. To business. Tomorrow, I plan to relax and write. A reader actually accosted me recently, concerning an entry in this “blog,” and asked me why I can’t relax. She said “Just because it [writing] is your passion doesn’t make it everything.” Typical fucking remark of a non-artist. Readers, I thank you for your feedback, but don’t expect me to ever sit silent if I don’t concur with your remarks. Proud of my venom, and I will make that known.
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a complete day, meaning from rise to slumber, to my Self, for the Craft. Tomorrow will be the first. Wait, have I ever? If I had my own winery, what would I name it? Chateau Mike? Madigan Winery & Vineyard? Why the fuck am I thinking about that? How do I do a Word Count on a Mac? Just heard thunder outside. Wow, California’s actually delivering some formidable weather.
Racer 5, on a “stormy” eve. FOR SOME REASON...sorry about the caps...I’m thinking about a script, for a play. Three characters, one scene, thirty minutes, all dialogue. Seriously, the Room is a play, everyday, each shift. Speaking of shifts, I need to snatch some. Money, material for these pages. Can’t get over the reality that I’m on a new little monster. How the fuck do I do a word count?
Found it. This computer is turning me into a groupie. Change the subject, quick. To anything. What can I talk about? Fishing. Have you ever noticed how passionate they are? I’m envious of their fervor. I’ll be 31 this year, but I feel ageless, tireless, venomous. Old supervisors, wonder what they are thinking right now, when the last time I passed through their thoughts. That’s vein. Topic next: politics, and those who think they know everything about issues political. My offering to such characters, FUCK YOU! Artistic, articulate, huh? I’m not trying to be. I’m human, whereas you are simply a puppet, reciting statistics you read on dikipedia. Not impressed.
Loving this rain. Haven’t heard another roar of thunder. Disappointed. Gave CA a credit of formidable climate. Regretting it now. Ooo, a storm tracker. What a dizzying and provocative trail that would be. How can I get into such?
Wednesday 1/13/10. Thought I’d write the date a little different today. Mocha1 to my right, on an end table a good distance from this gorgeous new little laptop. Going to a couple wineries today. Imagery, Mayo, and VJB. Not sure about VJB, but I’ll see. Had a great dinner last night with Mom and Dad. How does she cook so well, so amazing actually, every time? Mystery. Need to get back on the ball with my shorts, stop playing in this silly log. Need to get this laptop upstairs. Been down here since yesterday. My hard drive, keyboard, papers. Need to consolidate. That’s really what this new New Year is about, simplicity, consolidation, victory of sorts.
The other day, a lady came into the Room with teeth as purple as Barney’s balls. And she kept asking for more and more pours. She requested that I pour the same wine twice, so she could be sure she wanted to buy it. She didn’t.
Enjoying myself, just sitting here on the couch. Ah, the lazy livelihood of the literary. I was stressing yesterday while re-reading this log, finding typos. Not today, not anymore. Typos are human. Writers are human. I am a writer, I am a human. So critics, keep your beak buttoned, devil!
Thursday 1.14.10. A thousands words, done. An independent piece, actually. One that will stand on its own. Watching “Basic Instinct” on HBO. Not a bad movie, at all. The writing element of the film. Forgot about it. Tonight’s pleasure, 2007 Old Vine Zin, St. Francis. Went out with my buddy James last night, told him I had been thinking about making my own wine. And, truthfully, I have. A Bordeaux blend of some kind. Could I do what my sister does?
I think that the rain is something magical. I hate that word. How about wondrous? It is. Sound, sight, smell, sensations delivered with its delivery.
At the point of the film where Douglas’ character, Nick, says to Sharon Stone’s, Catherine, something to the effect of ‘guess you don’t know your character that well’. I have to admire how passionate Nick is about his work as a police officer, and how Catherine is with hers as a woman of the pen. Should take a walk tomorrow, somewhere different. See, Nick has been put on leave, but is still observing Catherine’s movements, mannerisms, statements. These characters are so irresistible, with everything they say, do. This film is altogether enveloping. These characters are believable, rich, almost tantalizing. Me, as an author, I see things different. I’m sure most watch this film for its erotic scenes. Me, I’m at work right now. Michael D. just walked into a club, where Stone’s character is doing coke in a restroom with her lover and some guy. The music playing now is of a high BPM, and ambient textures and notes, sounds. Thinking I need to create a killer, as a writer. One who has a unique diabolical essence.
I get it, they’re using each other. Brilliant. Nick is making love to her, but is still on the case, I can tell. And she’s doing certain things to see how he’d react. Oh characters, characters. With this Craft, I feel like I’m my own bartender. I’ve already reached 1k for the day. Need to cut my Self off. My Self is my patron. No more, Self. You’re done for tonight. Wine is like a glass that is unbreakable. An entity undefinable. What do I do, or rather, what should I do when in contact with it? Some characters can’t control themselves. I can. Now, tackling the OVZ, 15.5, no match for my artist’s conduct, practice and discipline. I feel sorry for alcoholics, other addicts. If only they could before find some form of crafty and creative expression...
Need to look over the notes I have in my flip-pad 2morrow. My notes on the Room are what will catapult me to the other side, I’m convinced. Research, that’s what I need to do, want to do, am forced to do. This character that Douglas is playing, pushing me to a certain obsessiveness, with ideas for my pieces. Need to cut my Self off. Whenever I go too far over 1k, I become cranky, depressed the next day. Stop writing Mikey! Need to go tasting myself. New wineries, maybe in Dry Creek. Was going to go there the other day, as you may know, but got distracted by some mundane obligation, responsibility.
Ending this session. If I inscribe beyond this line, it will be with concise comments. For example:
-Went to the Gnarly Thorn last night with James. Karaoke night. Interesting crowd, to be brief within illustration.
-Cops, these homicide detectives, more passionate and dedicated than anything, anyone I can put on this page. Even off duty they’re in their case, cases, chasing suspects. A novel, for Mike?
-A female character, one with whom a reader, and I, fall in love. Female characters are far more engaging and entertaining than men. For whatever reason. Well actually, there are many.
-If I could go back to Paris tomorrow, I would. Le Petite Journal, by the hotel, splendid escargot. First time I ever had snails, was at that little restaurant. Mom, Dad, Alice, me.
-Why am I still writing? I know I’m going to be heavy in the morning, probably the entire day. Stop, Mikey.
-OVZ and me. Lovely amalgamation. Reviving. This domicile of mine, optimal for the union. Serene, safe, a secure sanctuary.
Today is truly one of my most productive days of creativity ever. It must be. Before me, my little compact computer, and a candle. Life of an authoritative author, authority over Self. You know what, I think I’m finally going to clock out for the night. Could never be under the rule of another. Must be my own chief.
Why do I keep checking the word count? Love this new little monster. Not missing the old. Not at all. But, still realizing how dependent I am on technology. We all are. Depressing, frightening. Am I a hero or villain? That’s interesting. Maybe something inside of me is the character I am pondering. I find it difficult to write about a monster because I find monstrous behavior so abhorrent. What do I do?
Was just thinking about the time I got lost on the bike paths of Sunriver. Think I was about 13. 14? I did get emotional, but I calmed my Self. Found my way to calm. Sunriver. Missing it. The snow. Now I’m saddening. I’m a wreck, missing Sunriver and Paris. Not missing the Gnarly Thorn. Why did I go there last night? In my fiction, I call it the Cobby Thorn.
Loving this computer. It’s so friendly, and, like my student Jackie said the other day when I met her at the Petaluma campus, to pick up my cookies that I bought her for a charity, for the cheerleading squad she coaches, pretty. I told her, “It is pretty!” When I said that, though, it was hours before my actual purchase. But I knew it was going to be lovely. I’m in love. With my laptop. Pathetic, right?
Encroaching 1k here in the log. “Stunner, yes often, like Hunter S. Thompson.” A rhyme I thought of earlier, when I was at NVC, in my shared office printing rosters. Poetry, in my shell’s fibers and channels.
11:31p. In my zone own. But, I’m exiting. Thinking of Ms. Plath’s entries. Should read through some tomorrow. Going to remember 1/14/10. So persistent, so plentiful. Plentiful, no. I could have written much more. Starting to become annoyed with me word choice. Here it is, the depression, the self-loathing. Need to speedily leave. Bona sera. Hopefully there aren’t too many typos.
Still find my Self having an entrepreneurial itch for hospitality, for restaurateurism, for the pairing of wine and cuisine. Where this will take me, not sure. Well, I have an idea, a hope actually. I want more shorts connected to the industry, so I’m not always writing about writing. Get so bored of composing on the life of composition. My wonderful parents purchased Alice and I a gift certificate for an outstanding Sonoma County dining experience, a restaurant by the name of “Farmhouse.” They were quite generous with the amount, but more so with how the gift was packaged. They included a menu, which reminds me and reiterates the immeasurable genius behind a strong chef. This menu includes dishes that I have never in my days tried, but am now entirely indecisive as to which I would select if seated there now.
A restaurant, like a baby, one’s offspring. Starts off one way, a year down the road hopefully stronger, established. I need a chef character. Derrick. His restaurant, the Quail. Yes, he serves a special Quail recipe, but is also recognized for his expertise with certain light pastas and his extensive wine selection and background. See where this goes.
I looked up, last night, a recipe for stuffed mushrooms. I will start with this arrangement, and then experiment to make it my own. I must attempt cooking a little in order to provide readers a believable culinary character.
Saturday December 26, 2009. Over 1k for the day. Working on my sixth short story, that’s where all of this day’s thousand went. Now, I connect with this lazy log. A new routine? I can only hope. I wrote one of my favorite writers yesterday. My aim to get some advice, some magic words that would put me on a fucking path, already. Well, I did. I titled my email to this nameless noble “In need of Impetus…Idea drought!” Essentially I asked C, that’s what I’ll call the author, how I can stay on one project, and not always be distracted. C responded by saying: “Being all over the place is a great way to never finish anything!” What brutal, and much needed, candor. I am rejuvenated. Thank you, C. After receiving the email, I finished short #5. Short stories are my practice, my Craft now. Again, a novel will come, but not now. Probably not soon. Selling the little tales will propel me, I hope, through and out of the staleness of reality.
Not looking forward to leaving this beautiful Sunriver stage. Wait, I have six more full days here (six?), why am I writing about leaving. Went for a jog this morning, with a crisp, unfamiliar 19 degree atmosphere. The altitude took a terrible toll on my lungs, and legs. Just glad I made my Self exercise.
Still thinking about restaurants, the world thereof, wine, dinning, fine dinning that is, and hospitality. Why, I don’t know. Am I being immature? Am I fantasizing? Teaching has disappointed me in ways that I never envisioned, when I was working on my little M.A. at CSUEB. Restaurants, wine, the menus, the patrons. Fascinating. There has to be a better word than that. Wait…beguiling. Getting a little loony, as I’ve been writing most of the day. Time for rest, reading. (4:19pm)
Wednesday December 30, 2009. Two days left in this 2009 chapter. Yesterday, snow fell, as if some belated gift, as if some benevolent giver wanted to over-give. Out the window, all I see is white, gentle, but still forceful with temperature and texture. Last night, I wouldn’t let myself rest until I reached achieved a 1000 word installment in short #6. Thinking of the snow shoeing mission the other day, in the territory of Mt. Bachelor. That’s what I mean by getting “out there,” doing something different, out of character.
For 2010, my short stories, and perhaps a few essays. This, even more solidified following the program I saw on PBS on Louisa May Alcott. Her tireless execution, project after project, making time only for sleep and runs in the woods. Distracted by the outside blusters pushing snow from branches. Going to miss Sunriver, when I depart in three days. But, dearest reader, I am ready to return to SoCo, ready to enact this new practice, become known as the most dedicated and successful penman of the short story. Audacious, I know. But, my true aim has hereby been disclosed.
Should I go for a walk? The sun is pushing the clouds aside, like a water buffalo (or whatever) annoyed by attacking predators.
5:29pm. Back from another session of snow shoeing, down by the lodge. Had a glass of Ranch Zabacco afterwards. Love the bar at the lodge, “Owl’s Nest.” Stopped at just beyond 2500 words in short #6. The reason I halted there is because I don’t want to force the story, rush it. Which I think is somewhat pragmatic. I’m not sure what to make of Sunriver. Of course, it’s lovely, paradisiacal I would offer. But, is it somewhat blinding, or distracting. I may be looking too much into this thought. Vacation is wonderful, it is altogether necessary.
Feel my prose pulsating in my very matter. Whatever that means. Tired from the walking, and the snow shoveling this a.m. Break.
Tuesday January 12, 2010. Finally, typing again. Curse this abominable technology, what it does to us. Just had this little monstrous laptop returned to my possession last night. Had an acquaintance of mine, Patrick, work on it since Thursday, to remove the most venomous of viruses. Today, I will be purchasing an Apple computer. Done with Windows.
Raining outside, been up since 5a. Hate it when I wake up so early, but not on days off. It’s lovely. This entire day belongs to me. Feels odd typing again. Get over it, Mike. Anyway, the semester begins next Wednesday. Am I excited? What do you think. Today, what else should I do with the next twelve or so hours?
Wine, on the brain. It wouldn’t be so bad to take a drive up to Dry Creek. Never done it before, at least not on my own. Also, need to finish short 6. Not much of a day off. Fingers of fog slithering through the trees, over the green hills outside. Boring, boring, boring, what I’m writing presently. Not going to delete it. Give me a minute…
Noticing some lingering oddities with this fucking laptop. So glad I have that significant stash of specie. Currently, I have $1500. I remember calling it my fun fund. Well, this new computer will be fun, but it will also be productive. It is more than necessary. So glad I’ve held onto those envelopes. All of them, bursting with the currency that will relieve this stress of mine.
9:37p. On the new laptop. Lovely, animated, a certain technological bliss, relief. Strange. Different, still getting used to the new world in which I type. My fingers are weary with these keys. Enough. To business. Tomorrow, I plan to relax and write. A reader actually accosted me recently, concerning an entry in this “blog,” and asked me why I can’t relax. She said “Just because it [writing] is your passion doesn’t make it everything.” Typical fucking remark of a non-artist. Readers, I thank you for your feedback, but don’t expect me to ever sit silent if I don’t concur with your remarks. Proud of my venom, and I will make that known.
You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a complete day, meaning from rise to slumber, to my Self, for the Craft. Tomorrow will be the first. Wait, have I ever? If I had my own winery, what would I name it? Chateau Mike? Madigan Winery & Vineyard? Why the fuck am I thinking about that? How do I do a Word Count on a Mac? Just heard thunder outside. Wow, California’s actually delivering some formidable weather.
Racer 5, on a “stormy” eve. FOR SOME REASON...sorry about the caps...I’m thinking about a script, for a play. Three characters, one scene, thirty minutes, all dialogue. Seriously, the Room is a play, everyday, each shift. Speaking of shifts, I need to snatch some. Money, material for these pages. Can’t get over the reality that I’m on a new little monster. How the fuck do I do a word count?
Found it. This computer is turning me into a groupie. Change the subject, quick. To anything. What can I talk about? Fishing. Have you ever noticed how passionate they are? I’m envious of their fervor. I’ll be 31 this year, but I feel ageless, tireless, venomous. Old supervisors, wonder what they are thinking right now, when the last time I passed through their thoughts. That’s vein. Topic next: politics, and those who think they know everything about issues political. My offering to such characters, FUCK YOU! Artistic, articulate, huh? I’m not trying to be. I’m human, whereas you are simply a puppet, reciting statistics you read on dikipedia. Not impressed.
Loving this rain. Haven’t heard another roar of thunder. Disappointed. Gave CA a credit of formidable climate. Regretting it now. Ooo, a storm tracker. What a dizzying and provocative trail that would be. How can I get into such?
Wednesday 1/13/10. Thought I’d write the date a little different today. Mocha1 to my right, on an end table a good distance from this gorgeous new little laptop. Going to a couple wineries today. Imagery, Mayo, and VJB. Not sure about VJB, but I’ll see. Had a great dinner last night with Mom and Dad. How does she cook so well, so amazing actually, every time? Mystery. Need to get back on the ball with my shorts, stop playing in this silly log. Need to get this laptop upstairs. Been down here since yesterday. My hard drive, keyboard, papers. Need to consolidate. That’s really what this new New Year is about, simplicity, consolidation, victory of sorts.
The other day, a lady came into the Room with teeth as purple as Barney’s balls. And she kept asking for more and more pours. She requested that I pour the same wine twice, so she could be sure she wanted to buy it. She didn’t.
Enjoying myself, just sitting here on the couch. Ah, the lazy livelihood of the literary. I was stressing yesterday while re-reading this log, finding typos. Not today, not anymore. Typos are human. Writers are human. I am a writer, I am a human. So critics, keep your beak buttoned, devil!
Thursday 1.14.10. A thousands words, done. An independent piece, actually. One that will stand on its own. Watching “Basic Instinct” on HBO. Not a bad movie, at all. The writing element of the film. Forgot about it. Tonight’s pleasure, 2007 Old Vine Zin, St. Francis. Went out with my buddy James last night, told him I had been thinking about making my own wine. And, truthfully, I have. A Bordeaux blend of some kind. Could I do what my sister does?
I think that the rain is something magical. I hate that word. How about wondrous? It is. Sound, sight, smell, sensations delivered with its delivery.
At the point of the film where Douglas’ character, Nick, says to Sharon Stone’s, Catherine, something to the effect of ‘guess you don’t know your character that well’. I have to admire how passionate Nick is about his work as a police officer, and how Catherine is with hers as a woman of the pen. Should take a walk tomorrow, somewhere different. See, Nick has been put on leave, but is still observing Catherine’s movements, mannerisms, statements. These characters are so irresistible, with everything they say, do. This film is altogether enveloping. These characters are believable, rich, almost tantalizing. Me, as an author, I see things different. I’m sure most watch this film for its erotic scenes. Me, I’m at work right now. Michael D. just walked into a club, where Stone’s character is doing coke in a restroom with her lover and some guy. The music playing now is of a high BPM, and ambient textures and notes, sounds. Thinking I need to create a killer, as a writer. One who has a unique diabolical essence.
I get it, they’re using each other. Brilliant. Nick is making love to her, but is still on the case, I can tell. And she’s doing certain things to see how he’d react. Oh characters, characters. With this Craft, I feel like I’m my own bartender. I’ve already reached 1k for the day. Need to cut my Self off. My Self is my patron. No more, Self. You’re done for tonight. Wine is like a glass that is unbreakable. An entity undefinable. What do I do, or rather, what should I do when in contact with it? Some characters can’t control themselves. I can. Now, tackling the OVZ, 15.5, no match for my artist’s conduct, practice and discipline. I feel sorry for alcoholics, other addicts. If only they could before find some form of crafty and creative expression...
Need to look over the notes I have in my flip-pad 2morrow. My notes on the Room are what will catapult me to the other side, I’m convinced. Research, that’s what I need to do, want to do, am forced to do. This character that Douglas is playing, pushing me to a certain obsessiveness, with ideas for my pieces. Need to cut my Self off. Whenever I go too far over 1k, I become cranky, depressed the next day. Stop writing Mikey! Need to go tasting myself. New wineries, maybe in Dry Creek. Was going to go there the other day, as you may know, but got distracted by some mundane obligation, responsibility.
Ending this session. If I inscribe beyond this line, it will be with concise comments. For example:
-Went to the Gnarly Thorn last night with James. Karaoke night. Interesting crowd, to be brief within illustration.
-Cops, these homicide detectives, more passionate and dedicated than anything, anyone I can put on this page. Even off duty they’re in their case, cases, chasing suspects. A novel, for Mike?
-A female character, one with whom a reader, and I, fall in love. Female characters are far more engaging and entertaining than men. For whatever reason. Well actually, there are many.
-If I could go back to Paris tomorrow, I would. Le Petite Journal, by the hotel, splendid escargot. First time I ever had snails, was at that little restaurant. Mom, Dad, Alice, me.
-Why am I still writing? I know I’m going to be heavy in the morning, probably the entire day. Stop, Mikey.
-OVZ and me. Lovely amalgamation. Reviving. This domicile of mine, optimal for the union. Serene, safe, a secure sanctuary.
Today is truly one of my most productive days of creativity ever. It must be. Before me, my little compact computer, and a candle. Life of an authoritative author, authority over Self. You know what, I think I’m finally going to clock out for the night. Could never be under the rule of another. Must be my own chief.
Why do I keep checking the word count? Love this new little monster. Not missing the old. Not at all. But, still realizing how dependent I am on technology. We all are. Depressing, frightening. Am I a hero or villain? That’s interesting. Maybe something inside of me is the character I am pondering. I find it difficult to write about a monster because I find monstrous behavior so abhorrent. What do I do?
Was just thinking about the time I got lost on the bike paths of Sunriver. Think I was about 13. 14? I did get emotional, but I calmed my Self. Found my way to calm. Sunriver. Missing it. The snow. Now I’m saddening. I’m a wreck, missing Sunriver and Paris. Not missing the Gnarly Thorn. Why did I go there last night? In my fiction, I call it the Cobby Thorn.
Loving this computer. It’s so friendly, and, like my student Jackie said the other day when I met her at the Petaluma campus, to pick up my cookies that I bought her for a charity, for the cheerleading squad she coaches, pretty. I told her, “It is pretty!” When I said that, though, it was hours before my actual purchase. But I knew it was going to be lovely. I’m in love. With my laptop. Pathetic, right?
Encroaching 1k here in the log. “Stunner, yes often, like Hunter S. Thompson.” A rhyme I thought of earlier, when I was at NVC, in my shared office printing rosters. Poetry, in my shell’s fibers and channels.
11:31p. In my zone own. But, I’m exiting. Thinking of Ms. Plath’s entries. Should read through some tomorrow. Going to remember 1/14/10. So persistent, so plentiful. Plentiful, no. I could have written much more. Starting to become annoyed with me word choice. Here it is, the depression, the self-loathing. Need to speedily leave. Bona sera. Hopefully there aren’t too many typos.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)