Well, I’m finally here. Page 300 of this words document. Need to start collecting for the book. No stalling. Not anymore. Cruising up to Geyserville today, visiting another collective tasting Room. Have the mind to purchase. Oh, have to pick up the Letterz, don’t let me forget. Tonight, sister’s birthday dinner at a reputable and exciting wine location in Sausalito. Just learned yesterday that ‘lito is a spot of gathering artists. Not hard to believe. Views, water, boats, levies. Excited for tonight’s occasion. Knowing me, I’ll make an entry of it. And why not? Wine, paired with family, the occasion of my little sister’s 30th. That’s what wine is intended to sculpt, support.
My Sunday, today. A Friday. Ironic, to me. Sipping the mocha, finding my fingers have trouble translating the cognitive concert. Need to start reading the Faulkner shorts that I yesterday bought. So that’s two distinct Literary characters, VARIETALS, I study to Self: Plath & Faulkner. Layered lovers of the Literary. Just read some of the introduction of Faulkner’s collection. He self-published and self-educated himSelf by “reading promiscuously.” Love that line. Departing in 10 for G-ville. Excited to visit the Room, though not all that enthralled to taste. I know my friend Carolyn has great wines, 11 producers total being poured, all wonderful, I’m just not in a wine mood. What does a wine blogger do if he goes out on assignment and doesn’t taste? Guess I’ll have to push through it.
How did I get to page 300 already? Time, again, my foe. It’ll win, eventually. But it’ll incur irreparable damage from a writer like I.
3:52p. Returned, from the Geyservile Room, and other errands. My only aim, enjoy the remaining lines to this 300th page, before dinner. What do I sip? This berry-bent sparkling water. Deliciously crisp, a liquified restart button. The Letterz copies, finally in my possession, ready for sale, distribution. Need to start consolidating these writings, current and past, for larger works’ sake. Want to do some recording tonight, possibly. Tomorrow, back to work. Excited, frankly. I like pouring, the satisfaction of moving cases out the door.
Departure, closer. Looking at the pics I took in the Geyserville Room. Great layout. Comfortable. Want to start organizing pictures, but when will I have time to do that, when do I, as a Self-published author?
Distracted. Uploading pictures to a nearby developing center. Want to centralize these images for future sittings, pen movements. There, stopped at 12 new pictures. Listening to lounge beats, lounging in my chair. Not really aiming for productivity. It’s my Sunday. Convenient rationale, I know. But if it works for me, such a catering mentality, what harm could there be?
Just looked through the photos I have had developed. From Oregon, to a blogging mission to Napa, plus other moments. Encouraging. Going to see where this me pulls. Not necessarily aiming to be a photographer, but I do want to play with it, see where it reaches. What wine will be poured at tonight’s dinner? Eager for the occasion. Pictures, more on the way, you can safely anticipate. Want to catch more interactions, smiles, action shots. One thing I love about the New York Times, aside from the list I want to be on, is the picture that rests on the initial page, the hook, the visual net. It’s always an image that makes me stop, read while waiting for my mocha. That takes an incredible instinct, and a bit of happenstance. Either way, it never fails to squeeze my attention, hold onto it, like me to a glass of Dry Creek Zinfandel.