I’ve decamped from my house to get some writing down in one of the six local coffee shops. Coffee shops do well in this town, because there are a lot of freelancers, like myself in town, and moms who are hustling side gigs, which is like me, too.
I have cleared out of the house, because I need some space from my college kid who has a three-page paper on Russian intelligence from last semester that he has to finish off. He’s writing it, while sitting on the sofa and watching sports. He’s getting it done and has been getting good grades, so I don’t want to meddle too much. On the hand, I just can’t watch him working like that anymore. The crumpled up wrapper from Popeyes is seriously making me itch.
Also, we embarked on some ill advised home improvement efforts last weekend, so there are scraps of wall paper everywhere. My desk is under a tarp and will probably be out of commission for the rest of the week. I can work in the chaos of a coffee shop, but at home, everything has to be OCD-perfect.
My current writing project was put on hold until a report is released, so I decided to spend the week reexamining various book proposals that I’ve assembled over the years and never really shopped around. I think I have one book in me, and this might be right time to extract it. Like an impacted wisdom tooth.
Apt. 11d 