Writing in Coffee Shops: Part 2 – Everyone Has A Story

Another real life incident from a coffee shop. I’m sitting in the same darn chair from the “potato incident” when a blonde lady with yoga pants walks in. She has a workout bag with her and seems fatigued. She makes eye contact. I smile politely and return to my book. She doesn’t move. I look back up. A flash of recognition crosses her face. She’s clearly trying to talk to me.

“Uh, are you here for the writing group?”
“No. A writing group?” She pauses to throw her hands in the air. An Italian? I knew she reminded me of my mother…. “Have I got a good story for you!”

I can’t make this up, guys.

“Oh?” I set down my book, and she relays the unfortunate incident to me.

“This is not supposed to happen! I am 57 years old and my Jeep locked with my car keys and phone inside after Jazzercise. It is NOT supposed to do that.”

The lady uses my phone to dial a friend to come get her. But she can’t remember the number and calls the wrong friend, one who now lives in Florida. She then relays the entire incident to them, although they clearly can’t come get her.

I’m early for my writing meeting, so I offer to drive her home. It’s just a couple of miles, and she’s so very grateful.

“You’re going to get a ton of good karma for this.”
“It’s nothing, really. Besides, I’m not really a fan of karma.”
“Are you a fan of grace, then?”
“Yes, that I am.”

In less than 20 minutes, she’s conveyed this amazing life story to me. Part of me wonders if she’s made it up. But you’d be surprised how honest folks are with strangers, and I realize how silly my own Japan loving book writing otaku life sounds when you don’t know me.

“How old are you?”
“25.”
“My daughter is, too!”

By the way she says her child’s name, I can tell she means the world her. But then she tells me about how she didn’t understand why God gave her a child with disabilities, that He should have given her to someone more qualified, like a teacher or a physical therapist.

“She was only 1 lb when she was born. I didn’t believe she was a miracle baby. Her birth was an experiment. And I was just a cheerleader for the NFL! What did I know about raising this child with disabilities?”

But then she smiles. “I didn’t know why He chose me.” I look at her at the red light. “It’s been over 24 years, and now I believe in miracles.”

I never suspected I’d be spending my Monday commute this way. We pull up to her house and she runs in to pick up her spare keys.

“Is your mom my age? Does she do crazy things like this, too? Forgetting random things and such?”
“Yeah.” I recall when my mom once put the remote controller in the freezer. “But I’m never sure if that’s just her, or you know, her age.”
“Ha! My daughter says that about me, too! Well, tell your mom you did a good thing tonight.”

I drop her off at the car with her keys, and we laugh about how I’ll write about this. And I do. I remember that every person has a story. Behind every set of eyes there are whole worlds.

It’s amazing.

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Finding God in a Coffee Shop

Coffee is a big part of my life these days. More accurately, a Biggby part (heh heh heh).

Deal with it.

Sorry.

*Ahem* In addition to my book, I’m working on several other time-consuming projects, [Insert shameless plug for my new YouTube channel, Dashing Nerds*] and sometimes faith and a little caffeine is all that gets me through it. Ask my writing group how wired I was at the last meetup!

Coffee = life’s cheat code for a good night’s sleep.

Although I’m not blogging as much as I would like, I do take the occasional moment to Tweet my progress. Twitter is to writing as Tinder is to dating. Don’t read too much into that.

To be honest, I didn’t want to burden your newsfeed with how much life is beating me into a pulp.

Can’t I just stay home and not speak to anyone, like ever?

Authors can relate that there is, at times, an agonizing grind where you question every keystroke. I’ve lost count of my revisions.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

But then, there are the little moments in coffee shops. Unfolding scenes that invade your schedule and take your routine hostage. They make you laugh. Sometimes, they offer glimpses of grace and hope. God speaks to me in them. He gently reminds me that I love writing, that I love my life.

So Happy Monday to my fellow writers and adventurers. I hope you’ll keep your eyes open for these little moments that inspire you. I’m just reminding you that your life has a story worth telling. Keep going.

The Writing Life: As Told by Turtles

Summer is finally here in Michigan! It arrived with blistering heat this weekend and no shortage of distractions. I am doing my best to flee from these, but the Social Obligation Committee seems more intense in the sun; I’ve come to the conclusion it is powered by solar energy and tequila.

Attempting to run from social obligations….

These socialites simply don’t understand that I do not want to go to the bar every night because I have to get up early. My daily regiment starts at 5 a.m..

“But why would you do that?” they ask, blinking.
“Because,” I say with a smile, I enjoy being as miserable as possible.”

And I am sarcastic. I can’t express to them how incredibly fulfilled I am after a productive morning at the keyboard. But non-writers don’t get it. If I were not sarcastic, I’d sound like a walking greeting card spouting out vague proverbs on following my dreams and catching mythical worms in the wee hours of the morning. I won’t show them the detailed schedule I have written out because I don’t feel like revealing the extent of my lunacy.

So what do I look like at 5 a.m.?

I am no Zen master.

In theory, I go on my morning jog with our foster dog to warm up my brain cells. I should be done with this and showered by 5:30 a.m., and at my writing desk with coffee by 5:45 a.m. That leaves me two hours to write before I leave for work.

In reality, I am still in bed, wallowing in self-loathing at the productive, aspiring version of myself that came up with this hair-brained agenda. When I make it out the door, usually not before 6am, I am a zombie.

It’s safe to say our Shiba Inu walks me.

Zombies suffering from sleep depravation are not particularly excellent dog walkers. Especially when you have a Shiba Inu hybrid with the strength of the Hulk. So when I finally make it to my computer, I am crabby, still sleepy, and have lost an hour of writing time. Whenever I attempt to do a shortcut by skipping the run, I fall asleep at my desk.

Sometimes, when my husband comes in to check on me, he finds me in the most cherubic of states.

Don’t talk to me right now!

As a result of my body rebelling against my Muse’s desire to put words on the page, my writing has, well, slowed. But as we learned from the race of the hare and the tortoise, I firmly believe that if I continue the race and continue pacing myself, I will make it to the finish line with an story worth telling.

Rhetorical Routines

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut.”
Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

We’ve all heard it: “Write every day.”

Oh, brother. I know what I am *supposed* to be doing.

Easier said than done, right?

If you’re like me, you’ve got a 99+ things demanding your attention. And they’re probably important. Things like fitting in exercise, or spending quality time with your family, or putting in extra hours at your 9-to-5 job. You can’t give them up, but they seem to do everything in their power to make you want to quit; they won’t hesitate to pry you away from your keyboard with a crowbar and rob you of your energy.

What do you mean ‘do the laundry’?!

And then, when you’re finally ready to open your laptop again, your muses have abandoned you at the dreaded Wall of Surmounting Excuses and Missed Opportunities.

It’s a demoralizing, guilt-ridden place to be.

Fortunately, I’m not the first fool who decided to up and write a novel. Plenty of crazies have gone ahead, and they’ve been kind enough to bring back words of wisdom from the top to those of us still in the mire. It’s their advice I fall back on whenever I run into that accursed wall. And thanks to the powers of the internets, much of this advice is accessible.

Wow, I love YouTube interviews.

So how do they answer the question of daily writing? Writer’s Digest interviewed Alice Walker (author of The Color Purple), and she had this to say:

“… Part of writing is not so much that you’re going to actually write something every day, but what you should have, or need to have, is the possibility, which means the space and the time set aside—as if you were going to have someone come to tea. If you are expecting someone to come to tea but you’re not going to be there, they may not come, and if I were them, I wouldn’t come. So, it’s about receptivity and being home when your guest is expected, or even when you hope that they will come.”

Okay, alright, that sounds fair. I already think of my characters as living, and feel guilt when I ignore them, so I suppose I could be a bit more…hospitable. But how can I possibly set the time aside?

And that’s when THIS “little” infographic hit the net. It depicts the different waking hours of Pulitzer Prize winners. And guess what? Many woke up to write at 4AM.

Were they crazy? Probably! Did they drink a lot of coffee? Most definitely. But to write when the rest of the world is still sleeping? That’s brilliant.

So, I’m starting my new routine: get up an hour earlier to write, and read for at least an hour each day. It’s an uphill battle, but I know I will get stronger with every step I take! Wish me luck!