closing time

So I'm informed by dim lights that it's time to exit the premises--there isn't much in the way of anything in south wilkes-barre. Donahues is the only something that's even really open. A bar who is the last man standing in a part of town best known as being on its back, kafka style. So it's closing time and I have spent the last hour and a half talking to Jay about writing. And it comes down to this--either you talk about writing or you write. I can't say anything about being a writer without someone (wait for it. . .) offering this same tired chestnut of personal insight:

"i always thought about writing, but I just don't have the time to do it."

A load of bunk. . .if any of these people spent their time actually writing in lieu of talking about writing then this conversation would be moot. The truth of the matter is that it's way easier to talk about doing than actually doing. Coulda-woulda-shoulda--none of us are Brando and contenders only move in two directions: up or down. But Hell, at least they're moving, not just talking about it.