Notebooks out, pen out, lap top out, let’s go. But first, coffee. Not coffee at home, too many distractions, and today I’m going to write a masterpiece. Coffee shop it is. Irish cream with a pumpkin shot, cream, sweetener, perfect. Let’s go.

Coffee is too hot, I’ll just check a few things online while it cools. I’ll definitely start writing at 9:30.

Coffee cools at 9:35. This is amazing coffee, you wouldn’t think Irish cream would jibe with pumpkin, but here we have it. I should get this more often.

9:40, definitely writing. Laptop powering up, I’ll check this Facebook message. My friend’s son’s birthday is the same as my husband’s, that’s cool. Who has the same birthday as me? Bud Bundy. Figures.

Slide to unlock, open up Word, and there’s that inviting blank screen. What am I writing about again? To the notebooks! Pages and pages of ideas, which one speaks to me? Why is it so easy to come up with ideas, and so hard to put them on paper? Xennials. I’m a Xennial. WTF is a Xennial anyway? Screw it, I’m not writing about Xennials.

That lady is on speaker phone, listening to canned talk, waiting to be taken off hold. You can eat a muffin with one hand, why the speaker phone for us all to hear? I should tell her that. No, I shouldn’t. I’ll just glance at her casual-bitchy-like. She turned it down! Success! I should teach classes on passive-aggressive.

10:00, time to write for real. What to write. Oh, I forgot to check off one I already wrote. Check! Yes, I feel accomplished. Getting it done, is what I’m doing. Fuck, this coffee is good.

Intrinsic motivation. I could write about that. I’d have to have it first, shit. I’m here, though, aren’t I? My laptop’s on, my notebook’s open, this is what writer’s do and I’m a writer.

What if I’m not a writer? What if I suck at this? Why do all my words suck? Everything I write is crap, I don’t understand why people pay me to do this. That last piece I wrote barely got any likes and shares, I’m definitely losing my touch. I wonder how long before people realize I’m a hack. I wonder if this coffee shop is hiring.

10:10, I need to write something, anything. Dammit, I am a Xennial. Stupid made up generation, no wonder I can’t concentrate.

There’s a Walmart in this plaza, maybe I can write about Walmart. Who wants to read about Walmart? There is no masterpiece about Walmart. “Love In the Stationary Aisle,” sounds like a fucking winner to me!

Turn off your ringer! Do people not know how to exist in public anymore? Nobody wants to hear your bing every 12 seconds. We get it, you’re super popular, but keep your bing in your pants.

Ooh, my friend shared my link! I know this, because I saw the notification on silent, because I’m not a friggin’ Barbarian. Oh, it’s just some thing on car seats, not one of mine. That’s okay, car seat safety is important.

10:20, definitely, definitely writing, after I check Twitter. John Ross Bowie replied to my tweet! He’s a celebrity, so I interact with celebrities now. I’m basically famous. He was on Big Bang Theory, so that means I’m just one degree away from Johnny Galecki. Moving up in the world. I miss Roseanne.

Screen’s still blank, notebook’s full. I can do this. I can write, I’m a writer, writer’s write. I’m going to write. About something. 30 ideas in here, would one of you please give me an epiphany? It would be really nice if my brain worked occasionally!

Jason Ritter just tweeted a picture about IT made of emojis. Heh, that’s actually pretty cute. Wonder what he’s procrastinating.


Wait, it’s happening! They’re coming! The words! Yes! I’m just typing now, the words flow by themselves, I have no control over them at this point. I’m just the recorder. Word after word after word, like an unclogged drain.

12:00. I did it. I wrote the thing, and it’s awesome. Fuck, it feels good to write. I am a writer! If I beat my chest in triumph, will they kick me out of this coffee shop? Probably worse than a bing.

One down, 29 to go. But first, another coffee.



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