I wish I could work at a coffee shop. (and by “work,” I mean “write.” I realize one could well quibble with my definitions, after seeing what I write and how I don’t get paid to do it. But for purposes here, I mean “write.” Ahem...)
I wish I could work at a coffee shop. (doesn’t La Donna e Mobile start something like this? Yes, I’m inspired by Verdi. He looked just like our plumber, Yank. Ahem...)
I know it’s a cliche, the whole shtick of the earnest scribe, with laptop, in coffee shop. I’ve seen it plenty of times myself, and I always think, that’s cute...look at you...what a cliche...hope you have better luck than I have. But I’ve also tried it. More back in the day when I had two conditions present--children in school, and husband at work. Now that I am a companion almost 24/7, you would think that--at the very least--such circumscription would afford me ample freedom to write. And it does, in theory. But as almost everyone who has tried to work at home knows--sometimes home is just not the easiest place to achieve mental clarity. It is true that, with writing, you cannot let lack of mental clarity be a stumbling block. (If it were I would have scarcely written a word by now.) But the weird thing is...writing in a coffee shop really works. Maybe it’s a combination of factors: You’re out and in public which brings a fresh sharpness to the thinking process, yet it’s a comfortable setting where most distractions can be safely ignored. I have had some breakthrough moments in that setting. Not that you would know, reading my stuff...Show me, please...just where is it that you broke through?...Well, that could be the wrong metaphor. Maybe they were more like finally getting my rubber rain boot yanked out of the mud moments. It may not have yielded something pretty, but at least I could stick my foot back in and resume trudging. And drink coffee.
1 comment:
mmm. yes.
cafe.
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