Brewing Inspiration

 I spent Monday morning staring at my computer screen, willing words to come and they
   Just.
             Would.
                            Not.

It wasn't writer's block - it was more like writer's exhaustion.

As great as a novel writing challenge is, it can also beat you into the ground and make you want to crawl back into bed while precious little writer elves come and do it all for you.

*sigh*

~that never happens, by the way~

After driving my husband to work, I took the round-about way home and slipped into a cool little coffee shop in a town I rarely stop in because there's really nothing darling about it...except this cafe...which is in a newly renovated old fire hall...which isn't darling, per say, but it is kind of funky and welcoming and it smells positively delicious!.

There's something about pulling out of your normal spaces and plopping yourself right in the middle of the unfamiliar that plucks creative strings, brews inspiration and coaxes out your muse. 

I ordered a latte and tipped the barista. I sat at a small metal table with my back to a rowdy group having a work-lunch and the moment I opened my computer the words just poured out of me. 

As I worked, a small disabled man shuffled in from the street and stopped at my table. "Can I sit with you?" he asked.

"I won't be very good company," I told him. "I'm working."

"I like you," he said. "You're nice." And he shuffled over to the counter to order something for himself.

He came back as he waited for his order, pulled out a chair that squealed against the cement floor, and sat down across from me. "I like coffee," he said.

I smiled and offered him a "me too" but I kept working. 

The owner ventured out. Knelt down in front of him. Called him by name. He was obviously a regular visitor to the establishment. He spoke softly, not wanting to disturb me and not wanting to embarrass the man. Things like "she's working" and "she's a stranger" and "there's a spot right there by the fire for you".

"I'm sorry," the man said to me, scraping his chair back as he stood and shuffled to my side.

"You don't have to be sorry," I said.

"I like you," he said. "You're real nice."

And then he was gone, finding his spot by the fire while I finished up my last few sentences.

I met my word-count goal before I even finished the last swallow of my drink {which was so strong it made my head zing}! 

I packed up my bag, stuffing in my computer and my notebooks before I pulled on my coat. I took my empty latte glass to the counter and headed for the door.

"Bye!" he called from that chair beside the fire. "I like you!"

I smiled and waved and left the shop, climbing into my car and getting home just in time to welcome the children off the bus.

Had I just stayed home I may still have found my words...I mean, they were in me all along...BUT it would not have been the same, it would not have felt like quite the accomplishment AND, to be perfectly honest, it's rather lovely to have a strange little man tell you how nice you are {all I get at home on a Monday is a selfish cat and a laundry pile that glares at me}.

So, here's to chasing the muse...wherever she may lead...