Coffee Shops

This post is kind of pointless. Sorry about that.

As many of you know, I recently quit my day job and began writing full time. It is exactly as awesome as you think it is. I cannot believe how lucky I am to be doing this for a living. Last night, my wife told me that she also cannot believe how lucky I am... Hmm.

There is one disappointing thing though, coffee shops. When I turned in my resignation and thought about what my future would be like, I pictured myself pounding away at my keyboard, ensconced at the back of some ancient structure, sitting on a comfortable, well-worn chair, cats all around me. Baristas, all hoping to be artists or writers themselves one day, would idolize me. They'd bring me steaming cups of fresh-pressed, free trade, single origin coffee. They'd ask me what else they could get me, and I'd ask for a scone.

Ideally, the place would be situated on the banks of the Seine, the canals of Amsterdam, or overlooking some thousand year-old castle in the Irish countryside. I have kids though, so that wasn't going to happen. I was willing to settle for a spot deep in the suburbs of Houston, likely tucked between the nail salon and the dentist. Work with what you've got, right?

It turns out, I hate working in coffee shops.

People are always coming and going, the music is never right, the chairs are metal and stab into your back, you can't leave your seat for fear it will be taken when you get back, or if you try and save it, your laptop will be missing. Napping is frowned upon. The coffee is the same drip I can make at home, and if you want something more extravagant, it takes forever or it shows up cold, and still costs $5 a cup. They won't offer you a scone unless you wait in line for ten minutes, and they don't give a shit you're working on self-publishing an eBook. Their little brother does that too, but their mom is pressing them to get the kid a job at the coffee shop, so he can move out of the basement. Down in my area, the places are also all packed full of yoga pant wearing soccer moms, and worse, if you go at the wrong time of day, they have their kids with them! My wife actually 'called' one of the coffee shops near us yesterday. She and her yoga pant wearing friends were meeting there, and I was not allowed. Where are my fellow artists!?

Don't fret. I have a solution.

As far as I know, Hemmingway did all of his best writing in bars. I won't ask how he got his typewriter in there. If it's good enough for him, it's more than good enough for me. I'm doing some location scouting in my area to find the best spot. I can expense that, right? I'll just tell the IRS it's, uh, like my office. So, it's entirely possible that Empty Horizon: Benjamin Ashwood Book 4 will be my Old Man and the Sea. Excuse the grammatical errors, it was partially edited in a bar.