I get most of my writing done at home in my dinky little office that was formerly a tiny breakfast nook. I have a near top-of-the-line, large-screened iMac, where all the apps I deem necessary have room to coexist. But there are days when I need to get out of my cramped, confining cubicle, to allow creativity to thrive.
At the bottom of my hill is an independent coffee shop where the proprietor has been roasting a wide variety of beans forever. It’s more of a working class spot that doesn’t exude the pretentiousness of a certain Seattle-based chain, and the drink sizes aren’t written in Italian. Background music is sometimes Classic Rock, other times Classic Classical. I find either to be just right. When I’m feeling challenged, this is my writing spot.
I’ve been working on a lengthy piece about how the terrorists have won. It’s depressing. Today is the second time this week I’ve gotten out of the house with my little MacBook Air, which I still love. It’s extremely portable, and the four-year-old battery gets me through a few hours away from a plug without breaking a sweat. Screen real estate is at a premium, but I can write and grab links easily. As I suck on a Cincinnati Mocha I find myself inspired enough to crank out another few hundred words. This is as good as it gets on this kind of day.