So the night’s writing begins. Have to be steady with this delivery, prompt. The podcast, still uploading. Hate waiting. Tomorrow, in early. For inventory. Hate inventory, but it’s part of the business, “the industry.” Lovely day today. Great guests, moments, lessons. Further convinced I can run my own business, be it a small press or/and a wine lounge. Lost thought train. Not going to mold the 3 pages I’d hoped, do the whole John Updike routine. Thursday, three days in front. Can’t wait for its morning. The mocha manuscript morning, on my day off. Completely free, coated in poetry. This wine, this ’08 Zin, telling me to keep with the pushes of little coal-colored buttons. The weather today, responsible for my transcribed inertia.
Thinking the cat at the winery is symbolic of...hard to tell. Perhaps playfulness, curiosity, independence, exploration. He, little Jake, gives me ideas for lectures, for my Stanford sessions. Have an idea about a Lit class: American Lit, 20th-21st century. Focus on narrative, universal “contemporary” themes. Still a professor. Always a writer. One loving wine. And the page.
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