Writer’s Block
or
What happened at the Coffee Shop
Writer’s block hit me like getting slapped in the face by my favorite book in classical literature. It was October thirteenth, naturally, and I just woke up that morning without a single ounce of inspiration, a blossoming plot concept, or even a developing character idea. My brain felt completely empty, void of anything but the casual blankness of unoriginality that sunk to the back of my head like a lazy cat.
It was early in the morning. The sun hadn’t even begun to warm up the ground, but I was anxious and antsy. I needed to get out of the house. So, without further ado, I dressed quickly and warmly, grabbed my shoulder bag and keys, and walked out the door into the gold and yellow October morning air.I started my car and turned the stereo on, and I backed out of my driveway to The Smiths’ song Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now. Once I was out on the road, I tried to think of ways to get past this writer’s block, but I started to sing along to the music, and my mind started to wander. The sky was so blue it made my eyes water, but I suppose that could have been the cold. There was a thin layer of frost over the dying grass in the park, but it had already started melting when I drove past. It was about this time that I realized I had absolutely nowhere to go. I had, at most, fifteen dollars in my wallet and a few bits of spare change lying around the backseat of my car. I stopped at a red light and let my head rest on the wheel.
What is wrong with me? I thought.
My thoughts were interrupted when a horn blasted twice from behind me, and I realized that the light had turned green while I was wallowing in my inspirationless thoughts. Without thinking, I switched the right blinker on and turned, going down a road that I’d never explored. Small artisan shops lined the quiet street, where people were still flipping over their ‘Closed’ signs. On the corner, there was a cramped coffee house, and at the sight of it, I felt my stomach purr. I must have walked out of the house without a thought of breakfast.
I parked my car across the street, put a couple quarters in the parking meter, and hurried over to the warm-looking coffee shop. I walked inside and instantly felt calmer. Everything smelled like chai and fresh scones, and for a moment I just leaned against the door with my eyes closed, breathing it all in. When I opened my eyes, the barista was watching me amusedly from behind the counter.
“Are you just going to smell, or would you like a coffee?” he joked.
My face reddened as I walked over to the counter and pulled out my wallet. “I’ll take a tall dark chocolate mocha, please,” I said.
“You know, you could try a peppermint chai latté. It’s twice as good...” he leaned over the counter and whispered, “And it’s a lot less expensive.” He smiled good naturedly as I considered his offer.
I smiled and shrugged. “Sounds delicious,” I said, putting the money on the counter. “I’ll have that, then.”
He began to prepare my latté and I found a seat by the window. Once I had gotten my drink, I sat at my table and started sipping. Mmm.
And then I felt a tickling in the back of my brain. Like something was waking up inside of me, all because of that peppermint chai latté. Quickly, I reached for my purse and pulled out a pen and my notebook, setting them squarely on the small table. This was it, I knew it.
So I pick up my pen, and I put the tip of it gently on the paper.
And I begin to write.
