Today I tried to sit at a coffee shop and write, but then the coffee shop sort of closed between lunch and dinner because it’s not really a coffee shop, and they didn’t kick me out but they did suggestively turn off the lights. So as an experiment, I tried writing at home on one couch while B played Grand Theft Auto Five on the other couch.
Words written at coffee shop: 0
Words written to the sounds of GTA5: 341
I know for writers of novels, that is paltry, but for a short-winded poet like me, that’s what I call success.
Sometimes, the house of your writing is a body that is actually three men that steal things and create chaos in an imaginary city where everything is beautifully lit.