More aimed than ever, in these vinoLit pursuits. Was a different penman 24 hours ago. Even twelve, eight. Now, no more free writing, only freewriting, scene lighting. Sipping the same blend as last night. Trying to rush-finish this book. Some would say that’s insane. But at least I’m not offering any free services. In such enlightenment, I’m realizing the other blog, not this one, may have to within days die. There’s nothing Literary about it. No artistry in its posts. Just advertisement. And I’m not getting paid. OR, I could keep alive in case I DO start my own wine venture; I could link the biz to the blog. I don’t know. Not caring right now. Want to make a living from these words. These pages. Never been this focused. Me, the wine writing, different. 4ever.
Don’t need Kelly in the Room. Just the pours, beats, pages. From a professor’s view, I 2Self pose, “Why would anyone want to read your book?” One response from me, author, “I don’t know.” But, the other, “To appreciate a different lens over the wine world, a different take tumbling on blanketed pages.” This is more than Creative Writing, Wine journalism; It’s Human reaction to wine’s dimensions, a written quagmire that stands higher. Details in my journal, from today’s cubed sitting: 1) paper stack by monitor; have no idea what it is, think it’s been there since I was hired, or days after, 2) full drawers in desk, from person there before the writer, 3) taunting view of world’s actual, the street, passers, from my swivels; vindictive.
My point in this aimless projection: to let you know I’ll continue in such wild wine writing. It’s fun, that’s all. And I think readers appreciate such assumed authorial risks. OR, I hope they do. As the book comes to close, I’m alone with a glass. But not. One more. Another. Not talking about rounds, you mind. The blogging has to be halted. All Mike, for the books. For the readers. For the wine, its immeasurable terroir, the consumer. No “industry” in me. Only pages. On one of my blog posts, on a Kenwood winery, the tasting Room manager commented, “Words can not say enough! Thank you so much!” I know that’s a compliment. Why am I by it bothered? Don’t mind me, I’m irritable. Don’t have enough time to write. Time’s winning the war, all battles. Tomorrow, I wage new campaigns. Raising the new pour, ’07 Cab. Sipping to my new Now. Reading through Book1 like a consumer. Sipping words, wine. My own reflected web. Sip, sip ...