Think I know why I start certain writings, don’t finish.  Interest just isn’t there.  Well maybe it is to start, but there’s some confidence lack or drought.  This Pride Cabernet commands this prose artist to shutup and stop overthinking— fuck it, stop thinking altogether, just write, DO, publish and be out in the world, traveling and storytelling, reporting back to the babies and wife and everyone about the life I’ve written for Self.

Freewriting, wine.. some fruitful union there I’m sure.  Know.  In the writer’s hotel room, he sips his wine, in chair deeply, assured, wowed at what he’s done.