Feel like I haven’t written in months. Has been a couple days, though. Which is too long for this author. May go pull a Cab from one of the local shelves, seeing as I was in the land of the bold Bordeaux earlier. Odd, my sensation, in front of these neglected little keys. Feel like an absentee father, returning because it’s convenient, or I’m hebetudinous form guilt, shame. Need a beer, or something to ease the uncomfortable tremors accompanying my attempt at creative thought. Going to the store, see if the outside, the store’s unavoidable frenzy will make me work. If I return stale, I will commence the sips.
5:15p. Lagunitas IPA, and old scribblings. The literary cellar open, to my left. First twenty pages of BOOK ONE atop all, not yet in a file of their own. Was in the library, or cave, of our winery yesterday. The organization to the vintages, the countless varietals. A well-maintained and groomed history. Need to execute such with this little vault. Stray poetry sheets.
Still not as electric as I’d like to be. Maybe I should tussle with these old vintages of the brain, in this cloudy plastic coffin. The Room, yesterday, gave way to only a teaspoon’s value of notes. Was disappointed clocking out, professedly sour, perplexed. It’s not the characters, surely not my pouring comrades, then what? Me? Is it my age, 31’s intent cloud covering my Now? No, I am a contemplative but formidable Cabernet. I’m still strong, mentally alive, literarily atwitter.
6:09p. Ready for dinner. Where should I go? Might go to Monti’s in the village. Love that place. In fact, I relish my moments there to the point that when I envision ‘whoso’, my little wine spot, their interior, especially the bar area, is from what I expand, illustrate. Decided. That’s where tonight I visit. My interview today went well. The gentleman interviewing me, Andy, was kind, sincere, genuinely interested in my experiences and ideas. Hope to get a callback. Ready for a LIFE of vinoLit.
MY character, Kelly, in the stream of loaded efforts. Pulling her project from the cellar. Can’t find it right now. Shame on me. See? With what I now grapple and quibble, my disorganized habits. Such will infect my progression as a penman. Break.
Found my notes on her. Thought I lost them. Which reminds me, I have my current Mead Composition book downstairs, in my backpack. Unacceptable, these ways. Break 2.
7:29p. Sipping Cab. Napa fruit. Lovely. Official review to come, I swear. This, right now, this Now, true life, living. Moments need savoring, attention. This one has mine. Tangent: Why am I watching “Desperate Housewives?” Surprising the Self is a special shock, just as this wine I regard as a special selection. Wine, whirling my world, enhancing my LIFE, WRITING. Consistency of this bottle...no, need to stop. Writing the review in my little green notepad to this left. vinoLit on the mind now, self-publishing. Opening the document on this dishy laptop...