Where the Words Flow

Not every morning, but most mornings, I write. It gets my thoughts moving in the right direction, all together, like an army in formation. If you see me in the afternoon and I’m scatter-brained, swirly-whirly, and not really making much logical sense? Yeah, I probably didn’t write that morning.

So writing is not just a hobby, but a way to greet the day. Alas, the rest of my household contains non-morning people: that hearty breed of human that prefers to stay up late and sleep in the next day. Shawn does most of his work in the middle of the night, and the children seem to have taken after his side of the family.

So what’s a morning person to do? Our house is small. Typing and muttering myself would likely wake the others. Our studio is currently pretending to be a storage unit for a mattress*. The only answer: go to a coffee shop.

I’m lucky because I live in a tiny village, but it contains some AMAZING f-ing coffee shops run by friendly people who are damn fine bakers. What an awesome combination!  This morning I’m in Tarbell’s, which (if you’ve read Bucket of Blood you’ll know) used to be a hardware store at the turn-of-the-century.  It was owned by a tinsmith names C.H.Tarbell, who used to line up barrels full of hay in the front windows, and there display the newest shipments of fine china recently arrived from England.

I love the feeling of time in a place like this, which has transitioned into a modern function without losing sight of its roots. Look to the right, and you’ll see a few pictures of the place on my photo feed.  Isn’t it lovely? I seriously doubt that, in one hundred years, the emptied shells of Home Depot will house businesses with such character, and that bring so much vitality and gustatory joy to its community. Those vast, concrete-floored behemoths will be more suitable for roller derby, or whatever high-octane contact sport our descendants will play in the future.

A fun fate for the modern hardware store, sure, but not quite as suitable for a writer seeking a quiet place of morning solitude.

Do you write in public? If so, where’s your favourite spot? Who makes you a damn fine cup of coffee?


Damn fine cup of coffee!


*want a free mattress? Come and get it, friends.


2 thoughts on “Where the Words Flow

  1. They certainly get their night-owliness (is that a word?) from Shawn. Not sure if I would agree with “his side of the family.”

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