As the story goes, shortly before his death, Dylan Thomas squeaked out “I’ve had eighteen straight whiskeys, I believe that’s a record.” Over the next fifty some odd years, this group of words would become mystical, magical, and a mess of other “-ical” ending words to drunken poet wannabes everywhere. After all, they fit the writing lifestyle a little better than “After thirty-nine years, this is all I’ve done,” which also happens to be a set of argued Dylan Thomas last words.

After reading the above paragraph, it’s a bit obvious that no one knows for sure what Dylan Thomas said before he died, but that’s where the 19whiskeys name came from. Sure, from time to time, a lot of people are guilty of wanting to be drunken poets, but there’s a bit more to all of us than broken wine bottles and ink splattered napkins. There’s a desire to churn out soberingly good writing. There’s a passion to read stories that not only stimulate, but also resonate. There’s an inherent feeling to walk past the poor and popular and stumble down the road not taken. There’s a thought that tomorrow, someone, will emulate our today.

If, and when, 19whiskeys is still around after thirty-nine years and that’s all we’ve done, perhaps we’ll celebrate by breaking Mr. Thomas’ record.