Last week I packed up a notebook, a pen, and a sweater and walked to the Second Cup in Westmount. I ordered myself a decaf mocha with whipped topping and settled down to write.
By the time my mocha was gone, I had another four pages of Crossroads.
There’s something I really enjoy about writing or reading in a cafe. It’s a change of pace; it smells good (roasting coffee, mmm); there’s a touch of sophistication (i.e. I feel like an adult for some reason); and you have to do something, otherwise you’re just sitting there with a mug in front of you. The distractions are minimal, unless the music is terrible or there’s a pair of high school girls nearby, and time really works in your favour, for once.
Plus they have evil bakery items, should you have an extra couple of dollars in your wallet. That means that you can’t write as easily, though, because you have to handle a fork and a pen.
More and more I’m associating the computer with Work-type-work, and my pens and notebooks with my Writing work. This just might cause some serious psychological friction when November rolls around. Speaking thereof, only 45 days till the insanity begins once again…