Reaction to today’s tasting Room visit, typed. Now, the edit. Not now, actually. Tonight. More work with BOOK1 planned, as well. But where’s the money to publish? Maybe in my car, in this jar Mom and Dad gave me from Germany. Actually, it’s a behemothic beer mug. I use it for coin storage, but one day I’m filling it with beer, placing Self in a Munich pub. The travel bug, snake, snapping at my synapses every time I mention, or hear mentioned, a distant vicinity. Paris, the frontrunner. I don’t see that changing soon. Or ever. Tonight’s wine, a Primitivo. Not sure yet what its culinary counterpart will be. Not really aiming for a flawless wine-food duality. Just want to enjoy both, concurrently, as I did today at that memorable Silverado Trail Winery.
5:41p. Tomorrow, in the tasting Room. Need to outline some aims for my shift. Want to enjoy mySelf, yes. I always do. However, I’m focusing on productivity, progress, for the PAGE, for my BOOKS, with 2morrow’s shift. Charging one camera now, need to charge the other as well. The pictures offer tremendous aid when moving pen, typing. One item that’s sure to be on my objective list: dialogue. And, character scenes, which could be anything from older guests making-out at the counter, revolting all around them, to a young character visiting with his/her parents, on their first wine excursion; new 21 ...
Napa. Interesting oeno-beast. Some days, in love with its ways. Others, nowhere in this writer’s druthers. Today, it made me smile. Write. Reflect. Remember, with little assistance of a still photograph. Morning, clouds over vineyards. By early afternoon, vacationed conditions. And I live here, by these vines, these wine Rooms. As a writer, no less. A book should be out by now. Not far, that inaugural manuscript. Can’t be. I can’t afford it. “It,” being clock movement, not currency measurement.