Category: coffee

Fun, Fun, Fun

My writing sessions continue as entertaining and productive sessions. The book in progress is booking along (sorry for the pun — no, I’m not) as the characters grow and the story expands.

Didn’t go to the Boulevard today (see yesterday’s post, “Unbelievable”. As recap, Allison’s father, who owns the property, had Allison and her husband (Josh) managing the property for him, and fired them yesterday (Merry Christmas!). Baristas walked out in solidarity, and I went, too. Yeah, I know, I don’t know all of the story; I’ve witnessed how hard Allison and Josh work, though.

Anyway, had to find a new writing spot today. The first was too crowded. I made the second work. I’m at a breakfast bar on a high stool. Not comfortable. I alternate between standing and sitting, but the writing must be done. I’m thankful that our small town (population less than twenty thousand) has about ten coffee houses (which is down from when we first moved here, and two of them are Starbucks, which is a last resort).

Best, the muses didn’t care where I was. (“What? You’re not at the Boulevard? Well, screw you, mister,” they didn’t say.) They crowded in and began their thing before I’d taken off my coat.

I have ten main characters. I don’t know who the final primary protagonist will be. Several candidates are slugging it out. Meanwhile, each character apparently has their own muse. So, today, when settling in to write, these muses were all clamoring for me to write ‘their’ character’s story.

That’s what writing like crazy is all about — getting it down without prejudice, sorting it out as needed later, and editing and revising to improve it sanity — I mean, flow — and story-telling.

Good day of writing like crazy. Off to the movies now, to see Knives Out. I’ve been looking forward to it, and today is five dollar Tuesday.

Hard to beat that.

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Unbelievable

The owner of the cafe and hotel (who is related to the manager) where Boulevard Cofffee is located just walked in and fired them (Josh and Allison). The workers are walking out in protest.

They told me, so that I’d be aware of what’d happened. I feel that I have no choice but to respect their walkout and protest. It’s deplorable that Josh and Allison are treated this way. I’ve seen how hard they work here, managing the Boulevard Coffee and the Stratford Inn, and how much energy they invest.

So, shutting down the writing for the day. Need to find a new place to write.

Some matters are more important than others.

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A Bevy of Muses

After awakening with busy dreams, my muses immediately pounced on me.

“Add these sentences to this, this, and this,” one was telling me.

“You need to pick up Sly’s point of view,” another was saying. “It’s ready and needs to be expanded and told. Here’s what happens.”

A third was saying, “We’re not done with Selena. There’s a lot more for Selena.”

“Okay, okay,” I was answering all of them, making mental notes about what they directed.

That didn’t mollify them. I think it even energized them. Much more was directed, becoming a tsunami of scenes when I was walking to the coffee shop where I write. “Alright, alright,” I kept saying, nodding as each muse bubbled up to add more. I was trying to keep up and trying to shut them up, but without offending them. Never want to offend the muses or piss them off, nope, nope, nope.

Got my coffee. Yeah, time to obey the muses and write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Writing Reflections

A friend’s question prompted some post-response thinking as I conducted my pre-writing walk.

Before 2014, I wrote six novels. I never edited or revised them, and never sent them anywhere.

Between 2014 and 2016, I wrote four more novels. Since 2016, I epublished them. None did well. In fairness, I barely marketed them. I still remain fond of Returnee.

Since 2016, I’ve written five more novels. I haven’t published any of them. The first four were the Incomplete States quadrilogy that begins with Four On Kyrios. I shopped them to forty agents or more. None showed interest.

I finished April Showers 1921 last month and began shopping it with agents. Sent it to twenty. Three agents are showing interest by requesting more material.

Progress?

Last week I began writing another novel. The writing is the thing, you see. The new project has me laughing as the muses pitch crazy new twists on the whole thing. It’s the fun stage. It’s hard to keep up but I’m going to try to enjoy it while I’m on it.

Of course, like ocean waves, it’s not all linear, writing a novel. Ups and downs, setbacks and advances, excitement and frustration are ahead. Each will probably be endured multiple times in the months it takes me to write, edit, and revise this piece. That’s part of the process.

Got my coffee. My ass is in the chair and the computer is on. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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So, Traveling

I haven’t flown in about a year. It’s surprising how much has changed at the various airports and airlines. Most critically, I let my TSA Pre-check expire. Now I must wait in lines, strip down to my boxers, flash my privates, and share everything that I have to eat with anyone in a five foot circle before going through security.

One thing that hasn’t changed are my people. I don’t know them. I hope they’re my tribe. You’ve probably seen them, one arm bent at the elbow, a cuppa coffee extended in front of them like a bumper, marching their bags in search of. Soon as localized, I found a Peet’s — YES! PEET’S — and purchased a coffee.

High airport prices haven’t changed. $3.19 for a small coffee. Yikes. If it wasn’t a bonafide medical emergency, I may have passed. But caffeine was calling and the sky was falling…

It was needed, though. Looking forward to another thirteen hours across land and through air before reaching the final place.

Cheers

 

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Coffee Confessions

I admit that I like dark, strong coffee. I prefer not to put anything in it. Sometimes, though, I will change things up and have a twelve ounce mocha with four shots of espresso.

They asked me about my coffee preferences today at my regular coffee haunt. The two brews available both work for me so it was sixes. What I’m looking for a good cup of coffee is what seems like a clear and unambiguous flavor. I don’t want woody or winey blends, or coffees that shrink away from being strong.

It prompted thoughts of the coffees that I don’t like. I know you’re curious and anxious about it, so here’s the list.

  1. McDonald’s coffee
  2. Dunkin Donuts
  3. Starbucks
  4. Any other fast-food place where I’ve ever sampled coffee, like Burger King, Wendy’s etc.

People are often shocked when I mention Dunkin Donuts and Starbucks. Eyes bugging out, their voice rises. “You don’t like Dunkin Donuts coffee? I love it.” They gape at me as if I’ve just spoken an alien language. I imagine them going home to loved ones in a state of shock. The family gathers around to comfort them. “What is it, honey? Are you okay?”

They slowly respond from their depths of horror, “You’ll never believe what I heard today.”

“Tell us, tell us.”

“Michael doesn’t like Dunkin Donuts coffee.”

Gasps all around.

It’s always amusing when one person is appalled that another doesn’t the flavor that they love themselves. “You don’t like Budweiser? I think that’s the best beer in the world.” I, course, respond without snobbery, asking, “Have you had any other beer? Do you have any taste buds.” See? I’m just like them.

I feel like I’m required to mention Seattle’s Best, Pete’s, and Tim Horton here. I’ve never had Tim Horton, so I can’t comment on it. I’ve had Seattle’s Best, and can take it or leave it. I do love Pete’s Coffee; it’s my go-to when there’s a need to find some and it’s there.

My coffee days began in the military over a quarter of a century ago, when American coffee options were much smaller. I was a shift worker. Night shifts sometimes required some stimulation, especially those of the twelve hour variety, in at six in the evening, out at six the next morning. In those bunker-like places without windows, lit by fluorescent and tasks lights, warmed by multiple telephones, radios, and computer terminals, I began drinking coffee.

I began with the leftover day shift coffee, you know, whatever was still in the pot. I’d nuke that sludge and drink it down. As my taste buds developed, I realized how dissatisfying that was. Actually, it was nasty. Instant, like Nescafe and Sanka, was then embraced and discarded. They frankly seemed worse than the warmed up sludge.

I started brewing my own pots. That’s when my preferences awakened. I figured out what strength I preferred when I was required to measure out the scoops for my pot. In the early days, it was, “More is better.” Command posts and operations centers typically had Folgers or Maxwell House. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I found them weak and unappealing, forcing me to bring in my own grinds. Then I started buying beans and grinding them at home…

Yes, I was hooked.

It’s amazing how many coffee options now exist. It seems like just like everything else in the world, we go for overkill, trying to fill every niche and nuance of flavor and delight.

I guess I can live with it, as long as I get mine.

12

Saturday’s Theme Music

A friend said she’s giving up coffee. Moving on to green tea and herbal teas.

Says coffee is disrupting her sleep and jarring her focus.

On hearing these words, another friend said that he’d tried to remove coffee from his life, but he ended up with a constant craving.

With that, k.d. lang’s 1992 song, “Constant Craving”, leaped into the stream. I’m hoping that posting this will dissolve it so I can enjoy my coffee.

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Back Again

Friends were renting a house in Waldport, Oregon, three bedrooms, three baths. They’d invited their family. Their family couldn’t make it. Would we like to come?

Twist our arms, ouch, ouch, okay, we give, we give, we’ll come! The house wasn’t on the beach, but on a bluff that overlooks the beach, less than a quarter mile to the beach. Topology and beach access rules and agreements made it a ten minute walk to the beach. Not a problem.

waldport

We drove through pouring rain to reach Waldport. The sky ratcheted down to a gray sunshine the first night, permitting a walk on the beach. Waldport has fine, sandy beaches, flat, wide, and unpopulated by many others in September. Rain drenched the area that night. We awoke to a misty gray day, but that burned off. Sunshine and blue skies arrived and hung out with us for the next few days, a very welcome guest. Temperatures jumped into the high sixties, flirting with seventy-one inland.

Waldport is a small, comfortable town. Not many eateries called to us but Yachats ten miles to the south and Newport fifteen miles to the north were easy drives up Highway 101. Down in Yachats, we returned to Luna Sea Food twice, and also visited the Green Salmon for some excellent coffee and food. Once again, we struck out when we tried to visit Bread and Roses, as it was closed for the week! Dinner on Tuesday was at the Adobe restaurant in Yachats, where the dining room presented us with an excellent seat to watch the sunset as we ate and drank.

I walked on the beach at least twice a day, in addition to our daily hiking. For the week, I ended up with sixty-five miles on my Fitbit, which was the same as the previous two weeks. I often walked barefoot in the shallows, enjoying the sun-warmed waters churning over my feet.

Meanwhile, we had terrific companions, Marcia, Art, and Lucy. The owners’ net situation kept us off computers except to check email once in a while. We traveled the local coastline, hiking, and visiting the sights. We also walked the Alsea Bay Bridge. Just three quarters of a mile long, the bay’s water were fantastically clear and often shallow. Seals sunned and swum below us, entertaining us with their pastimes (yes, we’re easily entertained). Amanda’s trail in Yachats offered a more challenging walk, giving us fifty flights of steps on our Fitbits, and offering terrific views of the Pacific. Signs warned us about a mama bear and her cubs in the area, so we stayed on guard.

Amanda’s head has been washed away, and has been replaced by a smaller, carved statue of her. Her sad history, shared too many times with other people across America, remains to remind us how inhumane and barbaric Americans and Europeans often treat others.

A return visit to Cape Perpetua was in order, with its short hike to the CCC era stone shelter.

 

When we were back at the house, time was passed reading, chatting, eating, cooking, drinking wine, and gazing out at the ocean. The moon was waxing and was almost a full moon by the week’s end, splashing its gorgeous glow over the calm, rolling ocean. Not much writing was done, but batteries were drained and recharged.

Got my coffee, and my ass is in the chair. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

 

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A Writing Dream

A dusky, beautiful young woman approached me. Wearing a short, light-blue skirt and high heels, she seemed like she was sixteen years old, but trim and gorgeous, with a doe’s large, dark eyes, and long, black parted in the middle framing a heart-shaped face.

Solemn and reserved, she stopped before me. She was holding a paper and pencil, and held them out toward me. “I’m from a writing class. We’re writing novels. We’re supposed to ask you for help.” Puzzled, I took the paper as she explained that the paper was a checklist of eight things to do to write a novel.

I asked questions to clarify who she was and where she was from. During that exchange, she indicated a large building at the top of the hill. Other classmates approached. All were young, with clear, clean skin and groomed hair. I knew several of them. They, like the first girl, were there to get my help with their writing assignments. They were writing novels and had the same checklist that she had. One boy, who was familiar to me, explained to me that they were on the first step, and needed help to write their novels because they didn’t know what to do.

I felt flattered and told them that I was happy to help them. Meanwhile, I became obsessed with the building that they were supposed to be going to school in. A dark, spicy mustard color, it was set into the top of a green mountain. It was the backside of it that intrigued me most. A floor rested at the very top. Its windows seemed broken and it seemed like it was empty. I wanted to know what was in it. I felt like I’d always wanted to know what was in it.

I asked one of the young men who I knew well if that building was where they went to school. He confirmed that it was. “Then you’ve been in it,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Have you been in the back?”

“The back? I’m not sure.”

“I want to know what’s in the back of the building.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean. I need to go.” He took his checklist from me and stood. “But you can go into the building yourself and check it out.”

I went with him to the building. He went off to class. Climbing stairs and taking elevators, I went up as high as I could. One door was in the last room. It was a modern space, but didn’t have any windows. I went to the one door and tried opening it. It was locked but the young woman who I’d first met opened it. She wouldn’t let it open more than the width of her slender body.

She was holding a large mug of coffee. I tried seeing past her. “Can I come in?” I asked.

She shook her head. “But I can give you this coffee.”

“Thanks.” I took the coffee. “I can help you with your checklist, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you. We’re okay.” She closed the door.

Dismayed and frustrated, I stepped back. I wanted into that other room but didn’t know how to get there. Returning to the outside of the building, I contemplated the place that I desired to enter and confirmed, there was movement behind the windows. Something or someone was in there. Sipping the coffee, I plotted ways to satisfy my curiosity, determined to find a way.

The dream ended.

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