With the day free, to me, I do just what I would have on my Lit Lunch. Clocking in, 4:15p. Fifteen minutes late. For such a short line at this very near Starbucks, the wait proved painful. Blame mySelf, my proclivity in mocha’d magic. Why can’t I order straight coffee? Anyway, schedule allows till 6pm. Extra hour, lovely. If only I had that on normal midday sessions in downtown Napa, M-F. Outside, creeping fog. Cold, chilled consistency. Perfect for page. New Year around corner. New blog, new writing, new business. New Me, one in total Autonomy.
The mochas here, not as attractive as those from my beloved Roasting Company. At a bit of a block, not sure what to type. Just moving fingers till year’s close. Should have brought the Comp book with me. Also with this New 365 (don’t think it’s year leaping), I want more pen2paper. Moving ink, playing with it, letting it deliver my Literary stretches. Notes, all over this computer, that Comp book. Even my phone. Need desperate consolidation. Yes, the new business is my focus, but so is the novel’s completion. Especially with the launch of 1Stop. Have a feeling that will be my greatest writing prompt ever. It’s lifelong, potentially. Always populating the pages.
Need to slow down. Already winded from the momentum. This current Wine Bar track, suggesting I need another sip. The people in this coffee house, definitely talking louder than the Roasting Co guests. I’ll be honest, it’s a little annoying. At a small booth, where I can view see all entering, all the new talkers. Need to focus, forget about the surroundings. Focus on these chilled vino beats. Let them carry me to Paris...
Mike enjoyed his afternoon. Tried. He kept stressing about tomorrow’s unstoppable obligation. He’d be back at work. No sleeping in. Early up, 5:45am. What could he do, but just be there, in his moment. He typed, thought about the streets in Paris’ downtown, by the Arch, around his hotel. Last night, talking with his cousin about plans for the new “Wine Blog Biz,” going into the new year. Incredible developments were on their way, for Mike. He was sure of it. He and his cousin talked about how the business would grow, and of course talked about the fantasy office on the Embarcadero. Mike wouldn’t mind, even one bit, commuting to his own office, for HIS business, to make money for HIM. He felt alive, dimensional in his new ideas, his new business. He had goals, for the next 90 days. Ones he knew he’d pass, maybe even unknowingly. He couldn’t wait, for any of it. But he had to, as Nick suggested. “Be patient, be smart. Be methodical,” his cousin ordered, last night during their meeting in Mike’s Dad’s office. Mike, a new entrepreneur, at 32, knew he needed sleek strategy in each of his steps. And never to Self second-guess. The wine would sell itself.