Tonight, for our traditional Halloween wine and pizza gathering, Katie brought over two samples of our wine. One from B1 (barrel 1), and B2. Katie noted on mini post-it’s, on the lid of each small casing, the brix level of each barrel. B1 = 2.1, B2 = 0.5. Tasted both, and, as I predicted, B2 showed the most composure, appeal. Pressing later this week, and I’ll stand on winery grounds, at whatever time I need be, to do what I need 2 do, for MY wine. Not really sure where others see themselves qualified to comment on my ambitions, my dreams. And, to be frank, I’m a writer, an eternal dreamer. I’ll make it happen either way.
2morrow, November’s liftoff. How did that happen? Sipping, now, the beer Mom and Dad brought me back from Oregon. Nice nose profile, thirst-sedating quality. Thinking of today’s Literary Lunch, with this pint, this heaping pint. Why would I let even a drop, as I writer, loving the sipNscribble, go to waste? Listening to a documentary on Tupac Shakur, for the hundred-something-th occasion. He’s teaching me to follow my heart, as a Writer, winemaker, Artist. Forget what critics, skeptics, or just talkers vocalize.
Tomorrow, I plan on another Lit Lunch. Need to leave a bit earlier than I regularly intend, come ardent AM. Morning mocha, funded by a colleague, as I lend her a ride. Kind of her, to contribute to my addiction. Shouldn’t let her do that, pay for my morning blend. Should lend my car’s volatile cabin, structure, from my heart’s charitable urge. But I can’t refuse a gift, that’d be rude, right? Convenient conscience. But I think we all have that, to a degree. Don’t we?
9:59p. Twelve hours from now, I’ll be struggling for sales. If I stepped as Kelly did, away from her machine, entirely within her Craft, all would blossom, I’m sure. But I’m scared to leap in such boldness, I confess. Time will tell me what to do, precisely. But I wish it would be more speedy with its orders. What it does tell me, the clock: to keep focus on the wine; you’re a writer, you’ll always write; But this wine, needs extra attention, be abreast of variables, consistencies. All, with those two barrels, their levels. Don’t ever preoccupy yourSelf with what slow-minded swill-slurping slugs offer. Their years are limited, they just want to be heard, in their entrenched unhappiness. They, in all angles, situate short of comprehension of my aims, Ambitionz. Of vinoLit.