A dubiously smart person once said, “Write drunk; edit sober” (that person was not Ernest Hemingway, despite what you’ve heard). In that vein, I am now at The Yachtsman with Ashley so I can work on my novel.

No, I am not drunk (yet), because it’s Sunday, but we were running out of places to go. As much as I want to hate on The Yachtsman for becoming something of a loud, douchey nightmare on weekends, the staff is actually really nice, and the drinks are pretty delicious and outlandishly decorated.  Also, I ordered a tequila sunrise, which the young barmaster had never before made, and he went a little heavy on the Grenadine. I told him it was fine, but he showed up at our table a few minutes later with a newly made drink, on the house. Free tequila sunrise. Thanks, kid.

Anyway, we were at Front Street Cafe, but the Lulu Lemon crowd was out in full force, brunching and cackling and talking way too loudly about shit that is not interesting (“BECCA I LOVE YOUR NEW HAIR IT’S SO EDGY and then I was like, ‘get out of here,’ and he was all, ‘why you mad,’ and I was all, ‘oh my god.'”)¹. This means they don’t let cafe customers sit at tables. They are relegated to a side area so that brunchers may brunch. So we got a table table, had a snack, and promptly left. Now we are at the Yachtsman, enjoying Tiki drinks.

My goal was to write a new chapter. I fleshed out the most recent chapter I already wrote AND I stared really hard at a blank page for a while. Take that, Stephen King. ²

^{1. I used Becca instead of Becky because, although these girls are Beckys, my name is Becky, and although I don’t think I’m A BECKY, I have to protect myself.↩}

^{2. I actually did more than that… I labeled more notecards in Scrivener. So there.↩}