This morning, I once again walked into Caribou Coffee at the corner of Tremont and Zollinger, the same coffeehouse I write at nearly every day. The manager, Paul, called me by name. Before I had time to place my laptop and my bookbag on my usual table [the same one by the window where I write nearly every day] and walk to the counter, he had my usual drink ready. I’m nothing if not predictable.
My life may not match the wild fantasies you’ve conjured about the writing life. It may sound boring, but it works. I’m making my life black and white so that my writing can be colorful. I’ll take a dull life over dull writing any day.
