Just Do The Thing

"You drink too much" she said to him. "Or not enough. I guess it depends on what you are going for."

"I'm going for the 'forgetting my misery'" he said with a sigh.

"What you need to do is write more. Especially if you are drinking. All the great writings drank. Or did drugs. Not that you should do drugs though, drugs are bad. Or drink that much as that's bad too."

She wanted to make herself clear in this instance, that he was not alone and that he should use his talents.

"Write about anything. Write about me, write about you, write about pixies, write about aliens, write about Venice. Just write."

He knew she was wiser than him. And that she was usually the type of person that was right in matters of the existential and the "soul" if you believe in that sort of thing, which she did.

"You have stories to tell, my friend," she continued. "Some stories you may not even know are in there. The important thing is to plop yourself down in front of the notebook and write. Just write."

And so, I wrote.