Late. And, later. Closing with the buttery Chard I so loathed last night. Can’t believe I’m still awake. Been up since 5am. But, this is harvest. As a wine “blogger,” I must keep pace with the deviceful maneuvers of the makers of wine. This not-so-light white tightens my sight. I’m fading, I’ll concede. If tonight were to be my final manuscript, I’d be sorrowful. Candidly, I shouldn’t be scribing.
My book, deprived. This wine, worshipped. Shouldn’t be a wine “blogger” anymore. It’s not Literary. Not tonight. Because of me. My error. But how could it be erroneous when I so adore the wine, and my blog/log? So I keep typing, thinking of my character, Kelly, and mine own character, charisma.