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'round midnight

We sat outside on the cafe's patio, and talked about the things writers talk about. We made notes in our respective Molskine notebooks. Though clouds obscured the moon much of the night, the air was cold and dry.

My friend is far more successful than I am, and I should feel awkward, like the rookie we both know I am, but our relative levels of success don't matter to either of us. We both share a passion for creating, for telling stories, for putting you where we are, and keeping you interested enough to turn the page.

As I emptied my second mug of chamomile, a group of young Mediterranean men walked out onto the patio, and filled a table behind us. They broke out a backgammon board, and started to play. Across from them, a group of older Mediterranean men smoked cigars and sipped espresso. The young men shared complicated handshakes and slammed their dice cups onto the table, while the older men said very little, and thoughtfully blew clouds of fragrant blue smoke at each other. I wrote in my notebook, "They looked at each other; into the future and into the past."

Two girls in their early twenties sat at a table next to us, and gossiped. I wrote, "She just realized how big it all is, and she is terrified."

Groups of teenagers drifted in and out. All drank huge coffee drinks. Some smoked cigarettes. Many wore Ugg boots, an equal number wore flip-flops. Most intermittently talked on cell phones. I wrote, "They are happy to be here. If you asked them where they were, they would tell you, 'not at home!'"

My friend and I traded stories until the exhausted cafe workers closed the umbrellas and began to stack chairs. I would have written something in my notebook, but that was our cue to leave.

We gathered up our things, and said good bye. I drove home 'round midnight.


You have to admit that some of the best nights out with friends are when the hours pass unnoticed? Sometimes a little vino vino may be involved but always great conversation and finding out...after all this time...something you never knew about the other person/people.

I like guys who drink chamomille at coffee bars and drive home at twelve.

Another thing I liked was the picture of a man behind his computer. It said something like, if you sit here pretending to be an elf, you better invite some friends over to help you with that. Thats great.

I think more people than you thought could understand that.


I can definitely relate to those moments in life. It's sad that many of us do not remember many of them nor appreciate them enough to know that those moments are the underpinnings that make all of the other bad moments cease being so bad.

Wish I could've been there to enjoy that small sampling of time just taking in the sights, smells, sounds, and other assorted bits of atmosphere that you put out there.

Very nice. Very visual. Took me right there.

Pints of Smithwicks.


Cool Toronto fall nights.

Great discussions.

Brought it all back for me, Wil.

I Don't recall anyone's shoes though, but I never got drunk enough to fall on the floor to have a look . . .

Both of you, those reads were amazing. All you had to do is close your eyes and you'd be there, Wil. You can feel, smell, and see it :)

As for frog fuzz, first I gotta say that was pretty good writting. But shouldn't you post this in your own blog?

I hate to delete a great bit of writing, but please keep your comments on topic, and post large things in your own blogs. You can always trackback to any post on my blog, if you have something related to say that belongs on its own site.

Very vivid, Wil. I love those moments.

I always find you intresting in your writing.
But this...is a gem.
Thank you Wil.

Peaceful. I could see some palm trees, though you described the air being cold.

Great stuff, Mr. Wheaton. I /knew/ that you were a good writer but this levels off at a much higher plane of insightfulness. This is where you begin to stretch true creative muscle. Good stuff, man. Keep it up.

What a prtentious bunch of shit. You can't be serious about this drivel.

Sorry..PREtentious. I was so nauseated by this I made a typo.

That's it. You've hit the proverbial nail on the head. Writing is all about, or it ahould be about, tapping into those slices of life. Sharing with the reader those every day moments seen through your own eyes.

Sorry, johnboy, that you found it pretentious. But one thing I've found is that people who not only love to write, but feel compelled to do so, will find that sometimes words seem to write themselves in your head as you view the world. Sometimes it is shared with others, if you'r lucky. Other times, the words vaporize before you even get them down on paper. They are elusive and have a mind of their own.

I'm glad that this was one of those times it was shared.

Good to see that you still paint images with your words. Looks like you had another cool night.



Tonight, inspired by this entry, I finally purchased my first Molskeine notebook. I hope to have my first full-length play completed within the month, before grad school starts up again.

Thanks for sharing these moments with us.

You said:
W: I know! I grew up with you guys building your business, and you know that if you tried to start a business today, because of the policies and tax codes and things from George Bush and this Republican Congress, you would have a very hard time getting started. You wouldn't be able to compete with bigger businesses, especially being in the health care industry. You wouldn't be able to compete with bigger health care companies.

Wil, sweetie, the United States was not born with the BUSH administration!!! Over-regulation of business has been going on for DECADES, it is not the fault of the Bush administration. Stop with the knee-jerk reactions, repeating the same untrue stories again and again, laying blame where it does not belong because everyone else is doing it---believe me, Republicans in general and Bush in particular are not responsible for all the over-regulation from which we suffer today. Please. It's called "history", honey--read some, it's nice.