February 22nd, 2006
Every day now I spend an hour or so in a local cafe doing some writing. Working at home it becomes necessary to go out into the world and see other humans, lest you forget that there is actually a world out there, full of people moving their bodies about, doing various things, interacting. I have become increasingly superstitious about my cafe choice. It has come down to ‘where I have come up with the most ideas in the past’, where I have felt the writing flow out of me in consistent waves. Currently I feel like I can only work at Mishka’s, having something to do with the energy of the place. It is a serious ‘working’ cafe, full of people focused on their school work, typing away furiously on laptops, each in their own little portable worlds. I didn’t like it at first. it felt cold, lacking intimacy. But for some reason that focused energy is fueling me, like a collective consciousness of sorts, everyone’s thoughts feeding each other, little neurons firing and sparking and infecting the one next to it. Sometimes I sit, just waiting for a idea to hit. When it does I am hurled into the throes of creative possession. There is a wonderful excitment that comes with it, of feeling like you are invincible, that you have captured that illusive “idea”, and all those people who are in their own little worlds, drinking their tepid coffee, have no idea what you have just done. Though they might be able to see it by the spark in your eye, and the shift of your posture.
An empty cup rimmed with cappuccino scum sits on the table in front of me. time to switch to a green tea,
time for watching the words flow out of that magic pen.
time for to sit and listen to other people’s conversations for a moment.
time for a reward of that cookie i was eyeing earlier.