Just as the most Literary act a writer can invoke is not writing at all, so strides the most Wine blogger-y thing a “wine blogger” could exhibit is no consumption of wine. This sparkling lemon water, too engaging, calming. I may dance past 1,000 words tonight, many of which went to a specific project destination. May do some tasting 2morrow, after NWG shift. No, can’t. Need to run. Quite serious about doing a race in November, but more realistically, rationally, December. Starting with four run days per week, possible reductions in wine/beer consumption. In order to live a Literary Life, I have to be healthy, ALIVE. Mentally and physically speedy.
These instrumentals, sending lemon-enabled ink into imaginative boulevards, being lead to where I have no sense. What is Life without thought, Creative cognition? Although I’m not presently mid-sip with wine, I’m thinking about some, a floating flavor vapor of a Bordeaux blend. Not sure from where, I just want some Cabernet dominance abetting my romantic nerve. As this sitting slowly boulders on, I can’t help but imagine more street sprints. In Sunriver, Paris, Maui, Santa Barbara (never visited, not yet), Santa Cruz, Monterey. Want to run on other streets, just as always hunt for other scribble spots. I’ll fall asleep thinking of this, a list, I’m positive. Lemon electricity, sipping till still.
* * *
Tomorrow may be the day I actually go to the café to type on my lunch break. This is truly a skirmish with Self. If I don’t get a morning mocha tomorrow, I may be able to forward with such a success. Save it for afternoon, for delayed pages. Not hitting 1000 words tonight. Have the ’08 blend I was sipping to blame, thank. More, with amplitude elevated, I delight in stillness, sometimes not writing at all. Used to be hard for me to do. Still is, more often than.
Have to remember to bring this little tasmanian Devil laptop to Napa, early morrow. Not even partially complete, my project due 8/31/11. 1 week from today. If I’m taking this job seriously, of turning ideas into career as I entertained on the drive to the other valley today, then I need to mind schedules, deadlines. No socializing, from 12:30-1:30p. Only this screen. Writing. Progress. Palpable visions, preferred stages, roles. Leading, no more following.
8/25/2011, Thursday. Another glass of the ’08 Alexander Valley blend in glass. So many cubeNotes, in today’s bid. May have to start a new project, another book. Sip 1: Impressively more coherent, engaging than last night’s helpings. this morning’s drive, magnetic. Those angelically brush-touched AM ceilings; blue, silver, beautifully borrowed, for me, my pages. One portion of this penman’s workweek that never disagreeably ages, the AM sprint to NewWineGig. And I don’t mind that I’m unable to scribble all sentiments, thoughts, while moving the wheel, pressing pedals. I have to let thoughts go, but I survey such as an animistic barter. Those navigated hops eastward on 12, Napa Road, then 12 again, reasonable exchange. Only wish I had free moments to take pocket a bundle of photos, scribble some sentences. But, the time isn’t mine, in the morning. It’s NWG’s. A problem. Soon solved. Pangea ...
Didn’t 2day write in the café, at lunch, as I promised Self I would. Part of me thinks Kelly would be disappointed. Other, knows she would urge me to do what feels freest. Wonder what she paints, tonight, in this oddly atmosphered Sonoma County evening. Reflecting within today, I look at my cubeNotes, of the characters in Napa’s downtown. Becoming one of my preferred primordial nodes. It’s conveying pages, promising more.
I’m journal jumping. More than I have in months au courant. I had this categorized as counterproductive, but since picking a yellow legal pad from this desk’s innards, I’m turned, converted to fully subscribe to Literary secularism, separatism. This new yellow sheet set will be a book. On what? I don’t know; Wine, writing, “the industry,” Literature, Literary Life levels (not sure I have one yet), and whatever the moment musters. Not sure how “wine blogger”-y that be, but I’m hardly concerned with that arena anymore. I’m a writer, with no sights on appeasing anyone but Self, my real readers, those actively passing through page marks. “The industry,” not even in views at 6. Too far behind. And, more so, below. I’m meandering with my manuscripts, for my Equilibrium. Speaking of which, the more Plath research I do, the more I find her narrative rather than imagist. An unexpected, non-linear remark for this entry, I know. But I had to make it known that this writer is still very much with crosshairs set for classRoom return. Professor4ever ...