I want to be a coffeehouse writer.
I want to leave the comfort of my tiny Los Angeles abode every day and head for Starbuck’s with my Macbook under my arm.
I want to sit in a big leather chair in the best corner where I can see everyone and spend the better part of my day beating the daylights out of my keypad.
I want to shoot the breeze with the baristas and chat up the locals that run in for a quick latte to get them through the day.
I want to eavesdrop on conversations that inspire character dialogue. I want to sit with other writers and discuss my work and where I’m going with it.
I want to be the ambassador of the joint. The person everyone knows and asks questions of.
But, now the reality.
Number One: I have a day job and for the life of me I have never been able to write when the sun is up. I can have the day off with nothing to do and my laptop will remain firmly closed.
For whatever reason, my mind is constantly flooded with characters, dialogue and plot points just about the time I get into my pj’s. I think it must be because I am actually quite anti-social. I have no problem being alone with myself and my thoughts day after day after day.
I like having the night to myself to do whatever I want while the city sleeps.
Number Two: I am not a regular coffee drinker. As far as I’m concerned, coffee is what one has to top off a wonderful meal in a good restaurant. There have been occasions when I have forgone the coffee because I didn’t want to take a chance that it would ruin my dining experience. A weak demi tasse can ruin everything and I am just the person who will let my server know it.
Number Three: I’d rather be in Paris. Los Angeles is not known as a literary hub. Writers in this town are working on scripts and screenplays that never see the light of day. Beverly Hills seems to have hundreds of Bentleys and Rolls Royces per capita and not a single bookstore.
Not one.
Paris is almost overrun with book stores and I love that. I find romance on the dusty shelves, the decaying book spines, and regulation resident cat that traverses the shop.
That being said, if I were living in Paris, I would probably still do all my writing in the dead of night.
But the inspiration the city offers by day would be so worth it.
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| Shakespeare & Co. |
just the crust 