Lauren Grodstein Said
I enjoy her description of as being a scavenger. I’d not thought of it, but I’m the same, a scavenger of things I hear, read, and observe.
The Writing Moment
The writing center — known by everyone other than him as a cofffee shop — had a full parking lot. With past experience as a guide, he thought that getting a prime writing table* wouldn’t be possible. Head for number two, he ordered his brain, which delivered the message to his body, which set his car on the required course.
Coffee shop number two was packed. He selected a tertiary choice location with plans to move to a better spot when one opened, and joined the short line to acquire the necessary hot and dark magic water that helped stimulate his writing efforts. As he stood there, movement flickered in his eyes’ left periphery. Leaning a little, he confirmed, people were leaving a prime space. Hustling followed as he relocated his gear and thanked the coffee gods.
The place, he realized as he picked up his coffee, was packed. Every table, prime or not, was in use. Both conversation pits were filled, and almost all the window bar seats were engaged. Five baristas in black outfits worked in mechanical precision behind the wood-encased retail island to restock food and dishware, prepare orders, take, or deliver them. About fifty people filled the small business.
The place’s warm hum keyed his sentimental side. Such a friendly, happening scene. While a few patrons were like him, solitary animals focused on keyboards, staring at phones, or reading books, most people were chatting and laughing in twos and threes as they ate breakfast sandwiches and pastries and sipped coffee drinks, chai, or tea. The scene made his heart swell three times its normal size.
Then he sipped his coffee twice — once to sample it, the second time to more fully appreciate its warm, bitter flavor, put his head down and started typing. An hour later, he looked up and smiled as he gazed across the quiet, almost empty place. Music unheard over the previous rattle and hum was audible. The baristas were reduced to two, and plenty of seats and tables were available. Take your pick.
How quickly things could change.
*The prime writing space is a table or counter with space for a laptop, mouse, and coffee, a chair, and an outlet, and is located two to three feet away from others for privacy and isolation.
The Writing Moment
Another revision has been completed. This novel has kept growing*, but in a comfortable way, like I’m allowing it to breathe more deeply. I think I understand the story now, and grasp characters’ arcs and histories more completely, along with more nuances of the concept the relevant history informing the tale, things which I’d never thought about, simply inserting the pieces as needed, vowing, worry about it later, just get it written.
Even while I call this rev done, I have a small list of issues that need investigation so they can be vetted against the books’ revised story, so I’ll begin again. It’s been challenging but fun, and very, very satisfying. Makes me smile as I think, done again, even as I prepare to begin again.
That’s the nature of the process.
* The novel is now 482 Word pages and 146K.
