Tag: coffee

Reflecting on six weeks of isolation

This is the view from my window”


Gloomy, isn’t it. The window is right by my downstairs workstation, however, where I do most of my writing. Sometimes it’s sunny. Sometimes I see people walking past and cars driving by.

This is my life under quarantine.

So are my experiments with sourdoughs. Today, a loaf of yeast water no-knead bread (Henrietta) sits on the stovetop, waiting for its time to bake. (Yeast water is different from sourdough in that you have what amounts to a weak wine working on the bread dough). 

So is my writing. I took a break from adding a stronger beginning to Prodigies yesterday; I should be able to finish that today and then go through the book to adapt things. 

So is coffee. Between my husband’s roasts brewed in a vacuum pot and the Nespresso machine for mid-afternoon cups, I’m covered.

So are the fountain pens I’m collecting — All under $25, mostly Japanese (Pilot Metropolitan, Platinum Plaisir) and German (Lamy Al-Star), and a really inexpensive Jinhao that looks like a Lamy made by Rubbermaid). This and ink is where my allowance has been going the past few months, as I like collecting practical things I can use.

So is my teaching online. And the Zoom faculty meetings. 

I don’t have it too bad, despite the view out my window being very limited. My husband and I still have jobs that allow social isolation. We have money for groceries. We have four cats. We have each other. We’re staying healthy.

This quarantine is so much harder for so many other people.

Unmotivated



I’m not feeling it today.

Some days, I don’t feel like writing, and today is that day. I need to write that next chapter to Prodigies (the revision adds four chapters, maybe 5). I need to write this blog (I am writing it, but it’s taking a lot of will to do it.) 

I’m tired (still). Maybe the coffee will help. 

A change of scenery would help, but I can’t go anywhere!

The best remedy for procrastination in my opinion: Write for five minutes. If you want to quit after that, do so. But chances are you’ll want to write more, once you’re in it.

Except today. I don’t think it’s going to work today.

Maybe the coffee will help.

A Sunday Morning in the Age of COVID

(There was to be a picture here, but for some reason I can’t get my pictures to mail to me.)


Sunday mornings in my house: 

This much hasn’t changed: Classical music in the background — today it’s an album of violin concertos. 

Coffee — currently we’re drinking a store-bought coffee; usually we drink beans that Richard roasts himself. 

Cats — there are four, although one seldom comes upstairs. One of them, Girlie (the patched tabby with the attitude) is sitting next to me. She helps me get my work done.

Now, in the time of COVID: Breakfast is usually cereal, but in the quarantine I’ve discovered that I like playing with sourdough starter, and so sourdough bread as french toast is the featured meal of the day. I will make more sourdough bread later. I’ve named my starters: Marcy is a Polish whole wheat starter, Horatio is a home-captured wild yeast, and MarcyxHenrietta is an accidental batch that got spiked by the yeast water known as Henrietta.

My computer — I work on my writing on Sundays. Normally, I would be on my way to the cafe to write for a while. Now I write in a corner of the living room, burgundy and gold. I hate to be far from the action, which is part of why I used to write at the coffee shop. I miss the coffee shop.

 The view through the window — all the snow from the freakish snowstorm has melted, and the sky is a blue-grey. I need to get out, even if it’s just a trip in the car to the local park.

Today, for some reason, feels like Easter (which it is for the Orthodox faiths) and I have hope that we will rise from this pandemic a more thoughtful people.

I don’t feel like writing (personal)

Not in the Mood Today
I have two ideas for short stories, and one novella (or a short story, I don’t know) and I don’t feel like writing yet.

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I’m editing from beta readers’ suggestions for two novels and I want to get some queries out! I have two months before I can query again.



The Wise Advice Someone Gave Me
I really should take the advice someone (I don’t remember his name!) gave me at Archon (a writers’ conference in St. Louis): I should concentrate more on short stories and poetry and submit them in contests and for publication,

I’ve been submitting, using Submittable as a platform for finding and submitting my works. I’ve had a 10% response rate, which I consider good. I’ve noticed, strangely, that my work is received better overseas. Not so strangely, I’ve noticed that I don’t score so high with literary journals

I’m Tired
It may be the weather or seasonal depression or something, but I’m really tired right now. The moment I get more beta reader feedback, I’ll wake up and modify my novel like a maniac.

And there’s always coffee.

Saturday Morning at my House (Creative Essay)

Mind the clutter on the coffee table. 


Welcome to my Saturday morning.


It’s 8 o’clock AM, and my husband and I won’t go out today because of the ice and sleet from yesterday and the potential snow today. It’s a good excuse, anyhow.

We lounge in the living room under low light. The fake fireplace and a piney Woodwick candle create ambience. Tony Bennett sings “Darn that dream” and we chuckle at the song’s quaint language. Chucky sits on the edge of the cluttered coffee table, managing to knock only one thing down.

The coffee today is from Burundi, home roasted and ground, and I can taste notes of lemon, cooked apples, and spice. Tony Bennett has segued into a mellow jazz tune. 

I’m in my writing corner on the loveseat typing this. When I’m done I will go back to my developmental edits, which are going smoother than I thought. Today is an enforced retreat day, for which I’m grateful.

Holiday Travel

I didn’t write yesterday because I was on the road from the far northwest corner of Missouri to Illinois to visit my family and celebrate Christmas. I’m in town now, typing this at Jeremiah Joe’s in Ottawa, IL, watching children misbehave next to the Christmas tree in the big display windows left over from when this space was Famous Department Store. 

I’m getting old. I’m talking in that way older people talk: “I remember when this was Famous Department Store …” It’s inevitable that, when one gets old enough to see things change, that one documents the change aloud. I don’t like admitting I’m old; there’s still that part of me that thinks younger men should be conducting courtly displays of mischievous intellectualism toward me, but I’m officially past my expiration date for that. 

The white Christmas this year will be only in our dreams, given that highs this week will be in the 40s and there’s no precipitation in the forecast. I might be able to take a Christmas hike at Starved Rock State Park. I wonder if that’s a thing.

It looks like my dev edit has been delayed till New Years (thank goodness; I wasn’t ready for a Christmas present that would make me cry!) No, I know all of what I’m getting for Christmas, unless the universe decides to surprise me with good news about my writing. 

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Yule was yesterday, Hanukkah starts tonight, Christmas is Wednesday. Good greetings to all of you!


Coffee coffee coffee

This is a not-enough-coffee day.

I’m on my second cup of vacuum pot coffee. A vacuum pot is not a common way of making coffee in the US anymore, although in 1910-1970’s (probably) they were a known way of making good coffee, better than the automatic drip which supplanted them in US kitchens. 

We have an electric vacuum pot because we’re a little lazy about trying to get the temperatures right, and right now we have fresh beans from the Board Game Cafe downtown. (Sometimes Richard roasts beans, and then we have really fresh coffee.)

We also have a Nespresso Vertuo for in-between coffee pots — for example, later in the afternoon. We prefer this to the ubiquitous Keurig brewer, which is impossible to clean properly and eventually yields a bitter coffee.

Sometimes we use a press pot, for good stout coffee, or a Chemex, for well-filtered coffee. Or a moka pot, for the closest you can get to real espresso without a machine.

We drink a lot of coffee here — I may drink over the daily limit of coffee. But if I quit drinking it, I would get the worst caffeine withdrawal — pounding headache and grogginess.

Besides, I like the taste. I like the coffeehouse culture and the fancy pot. I like espresso with a twist of lemon (or better, with a dash of sambuca). I like the coffee jokes. 

Coffee, good or no, is a part of my life.

Sleepy.

I’m so tired this morning.

I’ve had to retype the above sentence twice because I couldn’t find the home keys. My hands are twitchy on the keyboard and my head keeps nodding.

I slept well last night, and kept sleeping till my alarm woke me up. Usually I’m up before the alarm. 

I’m up, though, if not totally awake, and I’m going to rescue myself with a good cup or three of coffee. Today’s coffee, from Mokaska Coffee, promises not only caffeine but epiphanies.

Hope that wakes me up. I’ll let you know if I have any epiphanies.

In Search of Small Happinesses

How do I kick myself out of these blahs?

These aren’t bipolar blahs, they’re just plain blahs. Lots of rejections, one dead cat (RIP Snowy), nothing exciting to look forward to. Except my birthday, and I have my psychiatrist’s appointment that day. So lots of reasons to stay blah.

If I want to stay blah, I can rehearse my hurts and aches and pains, hoping that I can win some sort of concession from God (“Look at all this crap that’s happened to me. I deserve some compensation!”). Note: It doesn’t work, and it keeps me from seeing good things that could be happening. 

It’s my responsibility to do what I can to get into a better mood. I wouldn’t say happiness is a choice, because that’s unfair to people like myself who face depression. But I can help myself until I feel better or. in the case of depression, till the meds kick in or I can talk to someone else. When I’m depressed, it’s so much harder to think of these, much less do them. Work helps me connect with people, and that helps a little, as does forcing myself to write. These things don’t get rid of the depression, but they take the edge off it.

What can I do? I think I’ve talked about this before, but I need a refresher, so here I go again:

  • Gratitude journaling — three things I’m grateful for every night. I admit I fall behind on this, because at night I generally want to sleep.
  • Walking — I could walk to coffee this morning. That might be a good thing.
  • Pet therapy — with five cats, this isn’t hard to do. 
  • Getting out — I’m contemplating the Board Game Cafe, as usual.
  • Accomplishing something using my character strengths — I have a story I’m writing which I’m not currently in love with; I can send Whose Hearts are Mountains off to dev edit; I could come up with a new story. Or submit more queries/submissions.
  • Connecting with people — Board Game Cafe works.
So I’m off to take care of my mood.