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this way to woodstock.  i think maybe i need to move there if i’m going to do some of this book in cafes, which are key once reporting and drafting is done.    cafes are where i go to get out of the house and do my do.   after say six or seven chapters in the can, i can write anywhere (in other words, in my apartment, with the laptop in front of the TV, propped up by magazines) but that tricky process of reaching cruising altitude, i have to break out.  ten pages today.  you would think that because i live in greenwich village i would have an array of great cafes to write in but i have nitpicked every single one of them.   i’m freakin’ goldilocks on that shit.  one is claustrophobic, the other has shitty wi fi, the third played candlebox.   i once interviewed candlebox at spin.  i guess that dates me.  what doesn’t date me these days?   i think it’s a matter of settling.   i have one that i hate BUT i manage to write in which is where you will find me more often than not but i don’t like it.   in fact the greatest feeling in the world is leaving it… with ten finished pages.   that could be the key.   not what cafe will provide a nice atmosphere, play great music, have great coffee and fast wi-fi, but which cafe is so horrid that i can’t wait to write what i  have to write and leave.

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