Sometimes it seems as if everybody wants to be a novelist. I’m sitting in my local coffee shop, where I retreated in order to — what else? — work on my own novel. The place is not crowded, but I count three others hiding behind their laptop screens. At the table beside mine, a man is explaining his screenplay’s entire backstory to a red-haired woman who cannot ask questions because of his rapid-fired explanations. He is in love with his flawed characters, his unique setting, his intricate plot. He pauses only to glance suspiciously over his shoulder at me as if afraid I will steal his ideas, despite the headphones firmly planted on my head.
I love to write in cafes, especially those, such as this one, that charge for internet access, thus removing the temptation to go online. (Which is why this entry will be posted after I am home — if I survive a return trip to my house. But more on that later.) Conveniently enough, relocating to a coffee shop also removes the temptation to clean house, talk on the phone, or admire my cats instead of work on my book — although I admit that it takes a special kind of writers’ block to encourage me to clean house instead of write.
Beyond those temptations, however, I have another reason for my change of venue: sheer terror. I’ve been sitting on the futon in my living room all morning, double-fisting mugs of tea and pretending to write, which means that I actually thought about my plot for a while and even wrote ninety-eight words. Then I updated my Facebook profile, read a few blogs, and played Jigsawdoku until my eyes glazed over. (I console myself with the knowledge that I’m really more of an afternoon writer, and I’m ahead of schedule anyway, but it doesn’t help much.)
And then around an hour ago I slipped into the kitchen to brew another cup of tea, and found the following sight waiting for me upon my return. Please pardon the fuzziness of the picture; there are limits to both my camera’s zoom lens and my willingness to risk my life for a clearer shot. As is wise, since shortly after I sneaked in a photograph, they lasered the UPS guy with their eyes. Then they ate him. I feared I may be next, so I grabbed a notebook and went into hiding. Another thing it turns out coffee shops are good for: covert operations. Just ask Mr. Movie Script, who still seems convinced I’m a spy.
Everything about the laptops aside, I had ALWAYS suspected that your cats were evil. Now, I think I have conclusive evidence. I miss them. I will have to stop by and see my buddy Echo one of these days. 🙂
As usual, you’ve got me smiling! I so have to start writing in coffee shops. Or the park. Or heck, even my car. Anywhere that gets me away from the internet!
I’m glad you evaded the threat! Too bad for the UPS guy. But that left his truck right? Sounds like a good vehicle for your covert operations. Oh, and I’m really good at pretending to write too!
I’ve never yet tried to write in a cafe. I wonder if I’d be overly distracted by strident conversations, music, or passers-by, or if it would be the ideal setup for me.
We just got a new puppy, and today I had to try typing with her on my lap. Eventually she crawled around behind me, but that wasn’t any more comfortable. I guess I’ll need to adapt.
Katie, it turns out you were correct. But that’s what makes them so interesting, you see. You never know if they’ll kiss you or bite you. It’s such fun. Oh, and just the other day Echo was saying he misses you, too.
Robin, sometimes all I need is a change of venue, whether that’s a different room in the house or a whole new location altogether. As for the UPS guy’s leavings, great idea on the truck for covert operations! I was thinking of stealing the uniform, but I thought the blood might be a giveaway.
Alyssa, it’s worth a try. If I write in one place all the time, I get a little stale, so the variety works for me. Plus, people-watching can be inspiring. Have fun with your new puppy! They are a handful, but so much fun. Rosie the kitten (who is actually four) likes to sit in the crook of my right arm, so she bounces every time my hand moves to hit a key. It’s tiring but adorable.
I love the look of their eyes.
Not for the first time when I read your blog, I question my 8-5 “regular” job as a tech writer who squeezes in freelance journalism (published) and occasional squalls of fiction filling pages (unpublished) after work.
You’re inspiring (and honest). Now for that leap of faith into what I perceive as the real writing world, even if it means beans and rice and fewer shopping sprees for awhile!
I’m with you on all the distractions at home. I always wind up thinking about yard work, painting, and repairs…sometimes I actually get up and do the house jobs.
I’ve gotten my most productive writing done when I’m in the war zone…between the moments of terror, there are long stretches of boredom and nothing else to do…so I write.
Great fuzzy picture! Still says all it needs to say.
My cat Lucky (deceased) used to sit in her bed on the window seat by my desk while I worked. If my “clicking” started to annoy her, she would get up, saunter across my desk and lay down across the keyboard…and glare.
I’d run too! They look like they’re sapping the energy from the laptop. =)
As for writing in public, sigh, I suppose I should force myself to get the hang of it so at the end of the day my total word count is not BLOGS: 5K WIP: 5, but tapping away at Alphie in a coffee shop makes me feel pretentious or something. ‘Oooh, lookee me. I’m an aaauuuthor.’
Oh, that pictures deserves a LOLcat dialogue. Maybe, “We Seez You Not Writing.”
i love coffee shop writing too. although i just heard that the wonderful bookstore/coffeeshop i go to all the time is closing…i’m devastated. You just can’t get attached to anything in NY. Soon enough they up the rent and the business has to close. Boo.