Thursday. Tomorrow may entail a clipped shift. Could be nice, leaving early. We’ll see. Not exactly thrilled with my progress on the other blog. Why do I procrastinate? Is that a writer thing? Maybe I’m better off a writer than a wine business owner. Well, I’d have to pose to Self, “Which would you rather have, books on store shelves, or a wine shop (or business)? And you can’t have both.” Well, if you know me even a little bit by now, you know the answer. Doesn’t even take much deliberation on my part. And, quite frankly, I’m getting a little bored of the wine business, of wine itself. As I’ve said in the past, no brilliant bottle of wine brings with it any impact comparable to a brilliant book. In Cold Blood, for example... Show me a bottle of wine that, anywhere in history, moved as many people as Mr. Capote’s master oeuvre. You won’t find one. Well, I guess it depends on where you are, with thoughts, heart. Mine is, will forever be, with Literature. Others, have histories with wine, the wine world. To me, wine is nothing more than a common beverage. Yes, you could elevate it to “luxury.” But even then, it’s consumable. Sipped, gone... Not with books. You read, put it back on the shelf, return when you wish. It’ll be there. Waiting. On its shelf. For you, the reader. Wine can’t do that.
More than ever, I need travel. To just fly around, write in different locales. Not even sure wine fits into that picture, honestly. The other night, I had another dream of Paris, that drive to Burgundy, around 3 hours, maybe a bit more. I woke, right before getting ready for my dreamy commute to Napa, thinking of the Louvre, all the art, history in those walls. How I almost found myself utterly lost between exhibits. Eradicating all stationary actualities from my days, my principle, primary goal with this newest life year.
Going to be quite honest, I’m in no mood to write, post to this exhaustive “wine blog.” Maybe I should walk away for a little, take a break, separate. That would be best, I’m thinking. For you, very patient reader, as well as this authorial self.
Returning, five minutes later, still unmotivated. Probably the wine from the work lunch. All at that table, incredible. Especially the wine. But, it negatively tilted my energy, Literary ethic, what I need tonight to compose an entry. Thinking of stopping altogether, with the wine. Have Diet Coke, or Ginger Ale, with xmas eve and day settings. I’m a writer, so is it “selling out” to have a wine blog that generates revenue? There’s no way that’s anything close to Literary. Have to think about this in the next eight days. Should I wager everything on the page? Or, should I sell wine, make a living, and write about that? Have both? Can’t decide. But I need to. Frustrated, flustered again. Breaking...
Mood, re-blossomed. Think it’s the Thievery through these little speakers on the monster. The novel, in each of my steps. Can hear mySelf narrate as I go. Kelly, again in thought, but only so much. It’s this WineBizBlog of mine, thinking of entrepreneurial skips. I’m not letting some recent passing in this ever so prestigious “industry” dissuade me from starting my shop, my greatest writing project to date. I will have everything I want in this newest year, believe. Feeling exceptionally optimistic, in this hour. Tiring, though. Have to save energy for holiday’s remainder. And about the wine, I am going to enjoy it. As I do enjoy it. I love the wine, not necessarily its industry. Wine, universally Literary, if one Literary embraces it. Reconsidering this life’s evolving varietal, positively; emboldened, in control, empowered. Sip, sip ...