Procrastinate a writer with Coffee


Welcome to Day C of the A to Z Challenge. What you will learn this month is: 26 Ways to Procrastinate a Writer
3. The third way to procrastinate a writer: COFFEE

Coffee is something that every writer seems to need and embrace. It is the aphrodiacs. Coffee at home can be just as complex as outside. In the home, coffee can be brewed, taking care to get it just strong enough, just light enough. Choosing the right mug to put it in can challenge. Choosing just the right mug for your mood is vital to success of the writer. Without sheerful inspiration or a positive message screen printed onto a cup, then the writer can flounder in self doubt. Coffee holds all the answeres.

Drinking coffee is a coffeeshop is an exciting adventure for the lobelty writer trapped indoors at their desk with maybe a small high window to peek out at the world from. Surrounded by the overwhelming noise and distraction can be soothing and it can be overwhelming. The coffee choices are greater than at home, so you mucy choose the beverage your writer is in the mood for. Many coffeeshops offer pasteries as well, so the choice of food becomes an added issue. By the time you get set up with the proper drink, and pastry, and the right placement to take a picture with to post on social media, a lot of time has passed. It is now time for the writer to go home. So much time and thought there is nothing left thought taken in choosing the right seat (if there is one) and choosing the drinkin, sweetening it and lightening it just so, s deifferent chore than being in the house. then there is not much left.

A change of scenery, your writer will say. After all, fresh surroundings inspire fresh ideas.

Jayne and Her Writerself

“I have to get out of here,” Jayne said, gritting her teeth into the word “here.”

Jayne stuffed her laptop into her backpack, a sturdy, padded shoulder bag actually, chosen with care to properly protect a laptop and all of her edited writing drafts.

It was Friday and all the TGIF Working for the Weekend songs were streaming out of her radio. The sun was bright enough. She had opened the sliding outside door to let a bit of fresh air in, so she felt like she was a part of the world not apart from the world. The breeze only distracted her as she thought about sitting on a park bench and watching people and puppies walk by in the park.

“No, I will go out to a coffeeshop to write,” she said out loud, thus giving the thought more credence. “It will do me go to get a fresh atmosphere. For every 3500 words I write, I’ll buy a cup of coffee. When I finish a chapter, I’ll get a chocolate or blueberry muffin.”

Having made this deal with herself, Jayne got into her car and drove a few miles away to House of Joe Coffee. The local roaster opened up about 6 months ago, and she had been there at least once every month. Today she wasn’t going for takeout. No, she was sitting in, at a table, sipping coffee in a for-here mug. She imagined the stares she would get as she sat down, the other patrons wondering who was this aspiring, successful writer? They would not know that one day soon in the future they would be sitting in the same place that Jayne wrote her bestseller novel. They would be in the midst of their greatness, and they knew it in a vague way. Why else would a writer be at a coffeeshop?

The parking lot was full, so she drove around the block looking for a space that was close enough that hauling her computer bag–or Bag of Greatness as Tom called it–wouldn’t be so hard. Circling the block three times, she found a spot under a scraggly tree on the sidewalk, shade to keep her car cool while she wrote well into the afternoon. That was more incentive to stay.

The owners roasted their own coffee, so when she entered, she was smacked with a wave of burnt beans. Not an unpleasant smell, but one that seeped into your hair and clothes as a distinguished badge of honor. She pushed through the invisible fog of coffee smell and walked up to the counter.

What did she want to day? What would inspire her? She could get coffee, but what were they roasting? Maybe a chai tea would be nice. Or one of the many selective loose leaf fine teas the owners stocked.

Jayne looked for a place to set her bag down, but all tables were full. Three people were at one table, and they looked as if they were leaving. Jayne hung back. She didn’t want to rush them, as it might make them even slower. She never liked it when people hawked over her. She turned back to the cashier, but not before a quick wink at the table. She silently claimed it as hers.

She looked at the pastry case as her brian swirled with coffee ideas. The muffin looked good, as did the scone. The snickerdoodle cookies were brough in daily from the award-winning bakery down the next town over. They were featured on Cookie Madness the pastries dessert show, and they came in thrird place. That was good enough. and their food was in high demand and pricey. However, you can’t choose a pastry without deciding on the drink first. Can’t have a clash of flavors in the mouth.

“What’s roasting today?” Jayne asked the man behind the counter, A boy really, looked like he was fresj out of coffee and just the hipster style dud as would that would hang out at a coffee shop with his friends, a guitar case at his side.

“The last of our house blend is going fast. Get it while you can,” he said. “Our Ethiopian is good, a round smooth flavor. What are you in the mood for?”

Good question. Did she want something bold, like her writing, or did she want something smoother and herbal, to be the quiet writer who was hiding just before greatness broke out. What would make her sound impressive that she was also in the mood for?

“I’m feeling adventurous today,” she said. “I’ll try the Ethopian.”

“For here or to go?” the barista asked her.

“For here,” she said proudly. Yes, she was staying and going to be so productive. She eyed the table; the trio were hovering in that half-standing way, almost grabbing their light jackets.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Ah, yes, pastry time. Since the coffee was a smooth blend, she decided to get a compliment, but would a blueberry or lemon ginger scone be better? These were breakfast foods but the snickerdoodles called to her.

“I’ll take a cookie please, on a plate.” Jayne half turned from the counter as idly as possible watching the table.

“Good choice on coffees,” a voice said from beside her. A man in a small fedora spoke to her. His brown eyes glittered with friendly conversation. He was reading a newspaper. Who does that anymore? Jayne thought. Only older people, and he was maybe in his mid 30s.

“Thanks. Come for the coffee and stay for the snickerdoodles” she joked back.

“I prefer the cinnamon hazelnut muffins. They taste good together.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” Jayne said.

“Do you come here often?” he asked, folding the newspaper down on the table.

The barista returned with her coffee, so Jayne turned to pay. She was listening to shuffles and “see you laters” behind her. Credit card. Sign this copy. Want a receipt?

When Jayne turned around, a tall guy was weaving between the tables to her now-empty table. He didn’t have a backpack or anything. He didn’t deserve the table.

Jayne looked down at Newspaper Guy. He smiled up at her. Her bag slipped down her shoulder. The tall guy was getting closer, his eyes focused only on the table. Jayne’s order was at the counter, and there was now an impatient line now behind her.

So much to juggle.

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Arlee Bird
    Apr 28, 2015 @ 16:18:22

    I used to see the coffee procrastination tactic at work all the time. There also used to be cigarettes until they fell out of favor.

    Arlee Bird
    A to Z Challenge Co-host
    Tossing It Out


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