Coffee Novelist

Why am I doing this? A red apron recipe-practices to keep the mind in writing shape

Coffee Novelist

September 1, 2020

I feel like I’ve hit a wall. Not creatively. That doesn’t really happen to me. As I say repeatedly, I do most of my writing away from this keyboard. In fact, I have spent the last two days “writing”the next story for my Altonstreet & Philpatrick series. These stories are in line to be novelized in a couple years, after my coming of age novel, Ironjaws. This is all part of my glorious 5 year plan, which I just posted. A good deal of the 5 year plan content has been written. But not all of it. I take comfort in knowing that what I will need is already there. I know where to find it. Not in the pen or in the keyboard or in the advice of others. It will be there when I need it. I will find it there when the time comes: Waiting for me in my mind, which is free and never closed.

That being said, I had a temporary derailment. A crisis of confidence over whether to keep all this going. This. What I am doing now. Getting up at quarter till 5, turning on the radio to classical station on low volume and writing. Why am I doing this? To what end? For approval? For sales of Tripio? Is it a hobby? Is my writing the equivalent of art on the walls of a hospital or local coffee house? I suppose all these questions were triggered by me finishing Back outta the World. A day or two of quiet, personal celebration followed. I then began to search for an editor. Three responses and three strikes. All strikes due to reasons as random as the separate paths of falling leaves.

I feel like I should clarify that I do not feel as if the Pandemic is primarily responsible for the stasis. In fact, I believe I am doing a damn good job of living through it, giving it the time and attention it requires but not attaching extra worry and mental energy to it. To go further, I believe I have directed that mental energy that could be anxiety and worry to better places.

That being said, I was told in the search for editors that “I can’t write fiction”. Fair enough. But In that opinion, comment, analysis I found the reason I go on writing. I write because I have to. I simply have to write. Oh, don’t hear it as anything grand, like I was born to write or the like. I ain’t’ that pretentious. In writing I have simply discovered a great way to use the time given me time between 5-7 am. I cannot sleep in. In these early morning hours, I have tried hating myself, my past and my future. I have tried crouching in the shower clutching a mug of coffee and praying that a new man would step out of the shower when that mug is done. I don’t like that quite as much.

I write because it is part of something bigger. It is part of my mind exercise routine I’ve been doing nearly every morning for years now I write also because I care about what I am writing about. It is now a constant in my life. I value my writing and it, in turn, keeps my mind, body and soul going in positive, productive directions.

A another positive attribute to writing that will never show up on any Amazon graph is that writing keeps one’s mind on the present! As we all know, past and future can distract, derail and even nearly destroy us. If we let it. And, is it ever easy! The focused intention on what we are doing when we write forces us to keep our mind in a productive, positive place, almost by default. What you are writing doesn’t matter much here, and it shouldn’t. You are simply taking your mind out for some cardio or resistance training. You will notice that the mind will repay you for it, just as the body does when it is exercised. You simply feel better all day.

I can’t control other people’s opinions. I can only control that I care about what I am writing. Which in the end, is the only writing worth doing.

“May I help who’s next?”

All the Dude ever wanted

Coffee Novelist

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August 26, 2020

This week was a momentous one on the journey to publish Tripio. In a previous post I detailed the final approval and legal transfer of the art from the locally grown artist who produced the original cover. A few days later, my tech support dropped by and put Tripio in line to be approved for presale by Amazon.

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I rose this morning with the expectation of working most all the weekend on the marketing, promoting and selling of Tripio. This time last year I was actually writing the novel. The only similarity I see in the years is that the weather is cold, grey and unappealing. It is the kind of weather that uncovers an ugly Midwestern city outside. I can find no real motivation to take part in that, hence it is a good weekend to stay in and write. No, wait, I can’t. That was last winter.

Hey, I am not bitching at all. I voluntarily took on the direct publishing of Tripio myself (with the help of dozens of others). One of the benefits of direct publishing is the freedom to make all the decisions yourself. Of course, the balancing out of it is that you have to actually create the time and energy to make and implement the results of those decisions. But that is part of the challenge and fun of it all.

Yet, I was a double espresso and regular cup of coffee into this morning and I wasn’t feeling it. I could not get going on this exciting new phase on the life of Tripio. A moment ago, I was standing in my kitchen pouring drip cup number two into my mug, when a line from the Big Lebowski popped into my head… “All the dude ever wanted was his rug back.” I stopped pouring just before the coffee overflowed. I had captured what I was feeling about the writing of Tripio. All I ever wanted was to write that book.

And indeed, I did “write” Tripio. For my blog’s raison d’etre though, I amended this line 18 months later to re-emphasize that what I really did was create the space and energy for Tripio to be accessed. Or in the Dude’s words, I abide.

I miss writing it now. As true today as it was when this post was first published. During that creative process I found strength in myself I never knew I had. With assistance from therapy, metaphysics, yoga and a lot more, I was able to unpack and discard things I no longer needed to carry. I also reached out of my vast yet tiny comfort zone, found fears there, and kicked their asses. Writing Tripio has helped me in the day to day world as well. At work, for example, I am now described as “most improved “and “content”. That is, I believe, a byproduct of undertaking the challenge of writing Tripio.

Nobody put a gun to my head and made me attempt to publish and sell Tripio. In fact, I may be undergoing a sort of postpartum separation period now as Tripio heads out to be a mere commodity and transaction. The Dude’s rug was no flying carpet. Yet Tripio took me places almost magically. For me the comparison holds up because, like the Dude and his rug, the writing of Tripio really tied my life together.

“May I help who’s next?”

Don’t cut across my yard!

Coffee Novelist

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August 19, 2020

These long summer days find us making due in any way we can. Lots of adapting, adopting and refitting our summer this year to accommodate the Pandemic.

One thing all this has done for me is that it has triggered memories of times when I had to make my own fun. The long summer days like these recall my youth playing fast pitch tennis ball, shooting hoops and causing general havoc with my gang of friends. The best make shift diamond for the baseball games was a location we called Sohio Field, so named because it was an empty field that bordered property owned by the Sohio Gas Company. The field was just the right dimensions for a pick up baseball game for the half dozen or so of us, altering the Home Run Derby rules as we needed based on the number of us who made it the that day’s game. By late summer we were experienced at making our own fun. The 10 foot high chain link fence erected by the Sohio company provided the perfect outfield wall. Anyone of us would gladly give up a tennis ball to be able to blast one over that fence. Needless to say, we usually walked back with a full compliment of tennis balls.

On the way to Sohio Field from my friend’s house stood the lawn of Old Man Meese. His yard ran parallel to my friends, a few lawns closer to Sohio Field. On the way to the game we had enough energy to ignore the open green space, which if cut through would eliminate about 30 seconds of the trip to Sohio field and home run hitting glory. On the way back however, tired, thirsty and having to get home for dinner, it was a different story. The trip through Old Man Meese’s sedulously kept lawn was too tempting not consider cutting through.

Yet we knew old man Meese prized his thick green grass, every single blade. He spent so much time out there, we thought it possible he named each and every blade. If we ran across that sacred space we would be at reaching into my friend’s fridge for cold can of Mountain Dew a half minute sooner. So tempting. But Old Man Meese was always vigilant and would surely yell at us, heaping abuse on us as we ran across his property. Yet the lawn was sitting there, an open space to be used for our benefit. Where was the harm? Old man Meese’s blades of grass would recover and life would go on.

As I write this post, attempting to make my own fun on this long summer day, I am listening to a public radio jazz show on low volume. It has no commercials. But a PSA just came on. Now my phone just buzzed. I have received a notification from Facebook that someone somewhere did something. I have to look. Phone now in hand I checked. A FB friend posted that his pet parrot has been taught to ride their golden retriever. Fighting back tears of joy, I now feel that I have to check my email. Since interest rates are historically low, I have been considering the possibility of re- financing the house. My phone knows this and my screen is covered with tiny mortgage rate ads, embedded with even tinier “x-s”, put there to help to eliminate those ads. But I don’t want this. The little x-s are nearly impossible to use for their intended purpose- they are so small! Now pissed, I give up on the rate search. To calm down, I check the weather. I must know if it is 85 or 86 degrees right now. Wait! I catch myself. I’m sitting at my dining room window. I can see, feel and practically touch the weather!

I toss the phone down. Damn kids – stay off my lawn! No, wait. I’m back to the post. My lawn. F***. Where was I? Making my own fun. Summers past. Old Man Meese. Me. I get it now. Old Man Meese spent so much time and effort on his lawn. I’ve done the same with this blog, these posts. His lawn. My Mind. Now I get why he didn’t want us cutting across his lawn. I’ve turned into crabby Old Man Meese. Every blade of grass was sacred to him. Every thought sacred to my mind. I don’t want a stranger stepping on my thoughts. It pisses me off. Where is my intent it all of this? I was having such a fine time, making my own fun. Damn kids!

“May I help who’s next?”

Who would read a novel about Starbucks?

Coffee Novelist

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August 4, 2020

“Who would read a novel about Starbucks?” I asked the facilitator of my “Author Development” class. Her answer would be important to me. After all, I had just written one. She looked my way and made eye contact for a moment. She then looked out above my head towards the wall behind me in order to give herself a second to think.

I have been getting a bunch of good info and intel in this class. Just to clarify a bit, this wasn’t a class on developing oneself as an actual writer. This class was directed towards creating a brand and finding an audience for one’s work. The facilitator, Darice of www.thepowercollective.net , has been successful in building her own brand and business based upon a book she released some years ago. Granted, her title was non-fiction and Tripio is a work of fiction, set at a Starbucks in Chicago in the summer of 1992. However, the book market globally is worth $145 billion dollars. With that in mind I took this three class course hoping I could get something from her wisdom. And maybe even some of that money.

During the first two classes, I discovered that there are a lot of people out there who want to help get your book published. A quick click or two reveals zillions of podcasts, books on selling books, websites, seminars, and blogs offering a dizzying variety of solutions on how to get your book placed in the right genre, at the right time, in the right place at the right price with the right cover. I wrote Tripio with none of that in mind. I was also discovering that it would have been wiser to find a genre, a category, a searchable title, a clickable cover, a banner-ed headline for that cover and lots more before taking a book to market. Possibly before even writing said book. I felt like I had a lot of catching up to do.

Fortunately for me, Darice had spent considerable time and trouble navigating this 145 billion dollar ocean so I was all ears awaiting her response to my question. She returned her gaze from the wall to look me in the eyes to answer “Coffee drinkers.”

Eureka! Starbucks is a coffee company isn’t it? I had forgotten that even in my own book, the protagonist, Jay, responds to the want ad from Starbucks because.” About the only real qualification I have is that I’m a coffee lover.” During this course, I was beginning to feel that it would have been easier to write the novel everyone else was telling me I should be writing. Easier to market, to categorize, to sell. Darice’s response was a lifeline thrown to me treading water in a vast ocean of advice, websites and SEO.

In Tripio Jay does get the job at Starbucks partly because he loves coffee. I started Tripio partly because I love to write. Something worth reading must have come out of that combination, right? As I mentioned earlier, this was not a class on developing oneself as a writer. Darice knew her brand building. I did get lots out of the classes. However, In my case, I was relieved I did things backward. I have since come to think that once one starts chasing all this wonderful advice and data, before one sits down to write their novel, that vast, unpredictable ocean can take that work down to it’s depths- never to be seen again.

“May I help who’s next?”

The visit revisted

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July 28, 2020

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is r7kqY6oGUchW5j4DpubzgWCnuuW7zzBtdMqsMpydBT1UTXPiE_WkB5CvTpjF1FVOLCOWNzyr_hMuckyBer-lYso-z_QWsp40t_mS8RjEKeBNljDCP6yt9O33Cn1IhWho4NLVCtaL — My view from store #204

In Tripio, the protagonist Jay works at a Starbucks store located near Lincoln Park on the corner of Clark, Diversey and Broadway. In the novel Tripio, for the sake of brevity and authenticity, I refer to it simply as store #204. It was already beat up and worn out when Jay arrives there as the new Lead Clerk. But the store had character. At this point I feel I have to remind everyone that this is an era of Starbucks that most have not experienced. Store #204 was not a cookie cutter, wi-fi ready, module of a Starbucks. I’m fairly sure it was taken over, and not built by and for, the Starbucks we all know today. I think this is a vital point as it emphasizes the unique viewpoint of Tripio. I lived this location. I did not select it because it was a trendy, popular, click bait spot into which to set a novel. So there. Since his co-workers were mostly aspiring to make a living at one art form or another, Jay, as an aspiring writer, felt he fit right in at this inclusive, artsy coffee store at the intersection of three busy streets. There are several passages in the book when Jay states that he feels “at home” at #204. He finds comfort settling back in there for a shift after returning to the city from a trip downstate: “ I had spent too much time here not to treat #204 as a home away from home”

So, it was no shock that I had a strong desire to go back and revisit store #204 once I had committed to writing Tripio. I also wanted to look again on the Days Inn that stood diagonally and across the street from #204. There were many, many nights I closed #204 and had to get back to open for a morning shift. If I closed, I locked that door after midnight. If I opened the next morning, it was re-opened at 5:30 or 6 a.m. The Days Inn stood just across the street on those nights, calling me, tempting me. A shower and bed was just minutes away. My apartment was a long bus ride up Clark. It could take almost an hour before a shower and bed there. I would then have to make the return trip on almost no sleep. All that could be fixed by a night at the Days Inn. But no money, no way. Of course, those mornings I fell back on my tripios on ice to get me up and running.

As summer 2017 arrived I took the opportunity to drive to Chicago and visit both places. I wanted to confirm the details of #204. After all, it had been 20 plus years since the last time I stepped out it’s doors. My trip to Chicago was also a gift for my daughter. She was headed to college in the fall and we went together as a going away present. That is why I did no research on whether #204 still existed. I was going anyway.

Not surprisingly #204 was no more. If it is true that you can’t go home again, at least you have a shot if it still standing. Standing on the sidewalk out front though, I could visualize where #204 stood in the new collection of storefronts that had taken over the whole building that housed and surrounded #204. I could still hear the thud of the filter basket hitting the bar across the dump bucket positioned on either end of the espresso bar. I could hear the grinders clicking on and the shriek of the hot steaming wand entering the cold milk. I could still hear my own voice calling out drinks I had made on the elevated espresso bar. I remembered the trick the baristas had of making an snow ball in the winter and throwing it at the dumpster in back to scare off rats before dumping the trash.

As I think it over now, perhaps not having a physical confirmation of #204 made me work harder to recreate #204 in Tripio. I had to work to rebuild store #204, and I did. It was all in my mind, waiting to be accessed. Look for proof when you read Tripio in the scene where Jay dusts off an “order here” sign that hung unnoticed by almost every customer and most partners who had ever entered #204. Also, not sure why I didn’t put in the rat anecdote somewhere in Tripio. Oh well.

My daughter and I spent the day walking all over Lincoln Park and saw other sights. She put up with my reminiscing throughout. Best of all I finally got to stay at that Days Inn. Now it is called The Versey https://www.hotelversey.com/ but the ghost of my Days Inn was still hovering around.

There are 20,000 Starbucks around the globe now. Thousands of folks start of their days with a trip “to my Starbucks”. Fair enough. But, “my Starbucks” is long closed. I would have loved to step inside one more time that day with my daughter in Chicago. So I could order a drink from the young man who worked there over two decades ago. But that vision passed that day. It came and went as writing Tripio and writing about writing Tripio kept those days near the top of my thoughts. I will never be able to set foot inside the brick and mortar store #204 again. But I don’t mind all that much since store #204 is always opened for business in the pages of Tripio.

“May I help who’s next?”

I posted this over a year ago. It received no visitors. As I looked it over I realized this trip was over three years ago. It struck me that I have been working on the Tripio, starting the blog, writing Back outta the World and everything that goes with all of it, most every day for several years before that. So, I have decided to take break in July. When this post is scheduled I will be on vacation from work and renewing my mind for more of this journey.

The Cosmodemonic Coffee Company

Coffee Novelist

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July 21, 2020

“Are you mad at Starbucks?”

I was caught off guard for a second. That was the first question my editor asked me after reading an excerpt from Tripio. I simply replied that Tripio is my novel and that my story could not have taken place without Starbucks as a major part of it. He then asked quite reasonably, “Why are you calling Starbucks the “Cosmodemonic Coffee Company”?

I had not thought about it all that much when writing Tripio. I think because it is how I referred to Starbucks throughout the journals I kept during the early 1990s when I worked at Starbucks in Chicago. At the time there were fewer than 100 Starbucks. Not talking about Chicago here, but the planet. Since those journals were the source material for Tripio and it was incredibly obvious that I could only be referring to Starbucks when I subbed Cosmodemonic. I saw no urgency in making a change.

My editor was fine with that but was more interested in the “Why?’ So, I went on. In Tripio, the Jay character and his new lover Kati both had read lots of Henry Miller by the time their romance starts. In his early writing days Henry Miller worked for Western Union and referred to it as the Cosmodemonic Telephone and Telegraph Company. In Tripio, Jay and Kati simply use Cosmodemonic as a nickname more out of homage to Henry Miller than anything to do with Starbucks. But my editor was not swayed and had me insert a clarification and explanation of sorts, as early in Tripio as I could. I did so.

Wait, there’s more. Since Tripio is at least part memoir and there are many passages where Jay is taking notes or reviewing his SotMs, he also substitutes Cosmodemonic for Starbucks, “to keep work out of my mind as I take notes and go about my off hours”. This reasoning also goes deep into the struggle the protagonist Jay faces in Tripio. Jay moved to Chicago to “test his metal as a writer, not to find a career” and is actively questioning whether he has what it takes to actually succeed as a novelist. Jay’s other option is climbing the ladder at this fast growing coffee company he has been working for over two years. Jay sees that the company is going to be a success yet is not sure he want to be part of that type of success. In using the word Cosmodemonic in his personal journals Jay is identifying himself more as a writer, like Henry Miller and not as a cog in the growing Starbucks empire.

Last but not least, I just checked an on-line dictionary site and found that no definition for the word “Cosmodemonic” exists. Since Henry Miller is no longer alive, I can’t ask him for his permission to use the word. Too bad, because I would also liked to have asked him what he thought about the Cosmodemonic Coffee Company.

“May I help who’s next?”

A fish story

Coffee Novelist

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July 14, 2020

“Barc Shif!”

-attributed to Fishy Man

I saw it today. It happened at a chance meeting with the artist who is doing the cover art for my first novel, Tripio. I loved it of course. What I saw was a mock up for the cover of my novel. My name on the cover. It looked like a real book from a bookstore or online page. My name as the author of a novel.

After this serendipitous meeting, I spent a good deal of the rest of the day going about my blue collar job. From time to time I tried to recall when I first I dreamed of being a writer. My oldest surviving effort is a cartoon entitled “Fishy Man”, a fish that resembled a carp and who changed into a superhero after saying the magic words, “Barc Shif”. The phrase was intended to be crab fish spelled backwards. It’s not. But I was nine years old and so hiring an editor has not yet occurred to me.

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Fishy Man never made a splash, so to speak, but the desire, wish, hope, dream of being a writer stayed with me. I can’t exactly pinpoint a summer day moment at the kitchen table where I was drawing Fishy Man, and looking up to my mom and saying, “I’m going to write novels!”. If I claimed that I did, this would be a totally different type of fish story.

As I got older I ditched Fishy Man for The Beats and wondered through my post college years into parenthood, stopping for four years to work at Starbucks in Chicago. During those years, I wrote novels and kept journals as time presented itself. Parenthood suddenly became all the time I had for the next twenty years but I did continue journaling. The day on the job that brought me to the chance meeting with the cover artist was a typical day in my life now as a single parent of four grown kids.

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Now headed home from the work day, I wondered if not for the 20 years of raising kids, of watching them create every day, would I have forgotten my childhood creation of Fishy Man? Fishy Man, who was born in the moment of pure creation from it’s own sake. Fishy Man, who was swimming free of intent, the desire to impress, the condition he be edited and monetized. Fishy Man, who couldn’t spell, but whose superpower was to create for his own sake, to follow his imagination, to become Fishy Man just for the fun of just being able to do it with no strings (or hooks) attached!

I don’t know for sure of course. I just hope the some of Fishy Man’s superpower made it into Tripio and all my other writing. Because one thing I have realized since that day at my kitchen table is that hanging onto that moment of pure fun creating is a lot more difficult these days. Maybe when I sit down next time to write a post or work on Back outta the World and it is not happening, all I will need to do will be to take a moment to recall my day at the kitchen table and utter those magic works….”Barc Shif!”

“May I help who’s next?”

Howard Schultz’s Book and my thoughts on it

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July 7, 2020

I recently read Howard Schultz’s book, From the Ground Up.

This was not the topic I was going to write about today. Especially since this happened over a year ago in real life. At some point, yes, I was going to let you know how my request for a blurb from Starbucks Founder, CEO and my old boss Howard Schultz, went. A yes, no, or maybe.

However, I discovered while I was looking for his contact info that he has beaten me to the punch and written his own book https://www.howardschultz.com/. Some of his book covers the early days of Starbucks, much like Tripio. It was due out before mine. Howard’s book “weaves two parallel narratives,” not three, like Tripio. So, my book is 33% better, as anyone can plainly see. By all means, buy both and compare. In fact, I think it would make Howard’s book nearly as interesting as Tripio. Because, in it’s historical fiction way, Tripio is holding up a mirror to Howard’s book.

Of course, Howard has a team of experts helping him sell his book. I’ve got my mouth and this blog helping me sell mine. This post was generated almost a year ago as nothing more than a commercial designed to generate interest in selling Tripio to anyone who wants a copy, or two, or 20. Seriously though, this blog, and I do mean this part, is meant to help someone find their own unique voice on their own unique journey to creating their own unique novel. You might be asking yourself, “Who is this guy and what the f*** does he know?” But, I know what worked for me and I hope that some of what I share will help you in any way you chose to apply it.

Since Howard’s team doesn’t need my help, I’ll talk more about Tripio.

There are three endings to Tripio, since there are three story lines. The story line I call “the Starbucks growth narrative” is intertwined and alongside the other two plot lines of Tripio. The reason I call our books companion pieces is that Howard’s book covers subjects like employee stock options and healthcare for nearly all employees. These are also the things I write about in Tripio because I experienced both first hand. It is a barista-in-the-trenches look at what Howard covers in his book, as the man giving the orders. So, to have both perspectives will make each book, when read, a deeper and more meaningful experience. So, buy both and compare. I have read both and like Tripio better. But, I may be biased.

My thoughts on From the Ground Up

Reading From the Ground Up was a very personal experience for me. My life has been greatly affected by Howard Schultz every day since working for Starbucks from 1990- 1994. I say everyday because if I had stayed at Starbucks, based on the number of options granted to me at the time, I would be a millionaire as of last year, that being the 25th anniversary of the Starbucks IPO. I think about that every day. Howard’s decision to provide healthcare for nearly all Starbucks employees helped me pay for the birth of my two oldest children, whom I also think about everyday.

The above is part of what informs my own historical fiction novel, Tripio, which takes places at a Chicago Starbucks in 1992. It features a scene where I actually meet Howard on stage to receive a Bean Stock Bravo award. I am not trying to sell my own book here, simply attempting to put this review in context.

And that to me means, to some degree, visualizing Howard as president, which this book clearly wants the reader to do.

To this day, the Starbucks of the early 90s was the most inclusive, empowering and energizing workplace I have experienced. I don’t think most people would describe today’s White House and, by extension this country in those terms.

The book itself covers milestones in Howard’s life chapter by chapter, in mostly chronological order. Howard gives example after example of listening to and including the people around him in order to get things done. His background is authentically humble. He is straightforward in admitting his and Starbuck’s mistakes and faults. The book overall gave me the impression of someone who can understand and relate to most of the country. He does share the pains he experienced relating to not having had enough money growing up.

From the Ground Up further humanized Howard for me, likely another goal of its writing. I could relate to his own upbringing as a son of a working class father. And I saw a lot familiar to me in Howard’s post college lack of guidance and direction. I understood what he was trying to say when he devotes a small section to writing that he wished that he and his father had been more able to talk when his father was alive.

I think Howard’s’ book succeeds in that he is able to get me, the reader, to become energized by his vision for America. Of course, in my case, I may not be completely objective since Howard, at one time, gave me a shot at becoming a millionaire.

A soundtrack for these times

Coffee Novelist

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June 30, 2020

I stepped out of my car at the parking lot of the grocery store. A quick Wednesday run, not the big haul. Of course, I reached for my mask before physically getting out of the vehicle.

I shut the car door and that somehow cued the music to the soundtrack for the Pandemic. All around me were people headed in or out of the store in masks, clothe or paper, plain or designer. I was used to this now. We all are. This is our life now, the norm, the routine. Bring your mask wherever you go. I put mine on and looked around to locate the source of the music. Who was providing the soundtrack to the Pandemic? It had instantly put me at ease. Then, I saw that a man had set up on the far side of the entrance from where I had parked. He was playing a violin hooked up to an amp. I was soothed, taken away from the normal existence in this Pandemic and placed as an extra in a movie. The violin was powerful enough to cover all the parking lot and strong enough for us all to hear it. For me, the music contained and captured all of us.

Yes, I was in the soundtrack for a movie about the Pandemic. I was grateful for the parking lot violinist and dropped a couple dollars in his case on the way in to the store. Through his music, he had taken me out of the Pandemic by putting me into a movie about it.

The violinist was gone by the time I had finished my quick shop. I wasn’t surprised because his violin case was nearly full of bills when my singles fell onto the pile. My fellow extras in the movie were appreciative as I was.

I began to wonder who will star in this particular movie I had just placed myself in as an extra? How many movies will there be about the Pandemic? Who will make them? I know that the stars will have to look good wearing a mask, that is for sure. My mind took me to the possibility that I could write the novel the movie would be based on. Why not? They would need a book first, right? I need to get home to get some of this stuff in the freezer first, then I can start on it.

Mask off and back in the car, I ruled that out. Not putting my things in freezer,I did that. I ruled out writing a novel about the Pandemic. That would have to be after my five novels in five years plan. By then, the Pandemic will be long over and there will he hundreds of novels in line in front of mine. The Pandemic will be long over. That was a comforting thought to carry home with me. It has to come to an end, right? All things do. World Wars, Plagues, Invasions, the Iron Age. An even more comforting thought was that books have preceded and followed those events. Books have survived and outlasted all events and times. The Pandemic will be no exception.

Once home, my freezer items in my freezer, I remained grateful for the music the violist provided that got me through another trip to the grocery store. One trip, one day at a time. That is all we can do for now. It may take some time but one day, we can head to the grocery store and to work and everywhere else, mask free. With any luck we can make these decisions with a little more appreciation. That in mind, we may even chose to go out to our local coffee place and read a novel about this Pandemic.

May I help who’s next?”

Why work hard?

Coffee Novelist

1 comment

June 29, 2020

“Set thy heart upon the work but never on its reward”

-my nieghbor, the HVAC guy

I had to ask my neighbor across the street to look at my AC unit last Saturday. I had cut my grass about a hour earlier. Once out of the shower and ready to start writing, I noticed I was still warm. My body temp had cooled down after the work outside but my house had not. Luckily for me, I could ask my neighbor across the street, an HVAC guy, to have a quick look before hitting the panic button.

He said he’d be over in a few minutes. I was thankful. We’ve been neighbors for over 20 years so what were a few minutes? I would use that time to get back to today’s post. Except I had no idea what it was. I am in the process of reading The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde. Maybe the post could be something like “There is only one thing worse than not having air-conditioning, and that is having air-conditioning that doesn’t work.” That had possibilities, but not quite.

I felt a bit guilty about asking my neighbor to look at my AC of his off day. He does this kind of work all week. But, I had already asked for the favor so there was no going back. I started thinking about why we work. From there I decided to direct my thoughts to my work. Not my real job. But the work I trying to do at this laptop. I considered why I do this work of writing. Certainly not for a paycheck. Not for the $2.36 I usually get from Amazon every month. Back in my day at Starbucks that would have been enough to buy you a short coffee and a scone. I could certainly be using my time for something more valuable, right?

The knock on my front door took me away from my laptop. I wasn’t feeling it anyway. My neighbor and I headed downstairs to look at the furnace, electrical box and all that is down there that I never pay attention to. We exchanged pleasantries and such as he diagnosed the situation. Strange. All seemed fine. So, we headed upstairs and outside to look at the unit’s fan and control box there. I was edging into panic mode. If he couldn’t find the problem quickly, I thought, it had to be bad. Bad means money. My $2.36 from Amazon won’t buy a lot of new AC units.

I stood outside proudly taking in my freshly cut lawn as my neighbor examined the AC unit tucked behind the house. I was thinking that work produced this sense of pride in seeing my lawn looking so nice. It was similar to the sense of pride I get when I see my copies of Tripio, gathering dust in a box under my writing table. The work that went into the lawn and the book are not debatable. It took work to do both. The relative value of both to someone else is where the subjectively comes in. And not in the time, effort and discipline required to do the work. That’s where the true reward is in all of this. I know what the work took out of me. The price on the cover of any book can not possibly reflect that. Yet that is part of the deal. No one else should know, or even care what it costs one to write a novel, a poem, a paragraph. None of my other neighbors came pounding on my door to demand I write Tripio.

“Looks like you cut a wire when you were mowing the lawn.” My neighbor informed me. Well ,so much for my pride. At least when it comes to lawn maintenance.

He took some electrical tape from his tool kit and went quickly to work. He fixed it in about a minute. He was happy to help me out. Plus the smile on his face told me he was pleased with himself. A job well done on his part. I offered to pay him and his response was the quote above. (Not really but it makes a good post).

“May I help who’s next?”