happy wednesday

caffe latte: noun: a bit of morning bravery in a cup

I feel better already.

i couldn't agree more.

Here's a little Bach for your morning:

Without my morning coffee I'm just like a dried-up piece of roast goat. -- Johann Sebastian Bach

Ha ha!! Who knew he was so funny?

Cheers to all my fellow roast goats.

lost & found

"Well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you." -- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

I've been bitten by a nostalgic mood lately. Not sure why--maybe it's my birthday out there on the horizon, reminding me of years past. Or maybe, after straining forward with project after project, my memory gets lonely and insists on a long look back.

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Whichever it is, I find I'm deeply missing the people I've shared life with. Whether our paths crossed for half an hour, half a year, or half a decade, they're suddenly back in my mind again. So many people that I've lost track of, and others I'm still in touch with but we're far away... Separated by time zones or oceans.

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Anyway, if this is you, know that you're missed. And that I'm remembering the many cups of coffee we shared, or the late rainy walks through unfamiliar streets, or the long long dinners that were outlasted by the brilliant conversation. That I miss cooking with you, I miss your funny laugh, I miss your off-the-wall insights, I miss your kindness. I miss the way you sometimes finished my sentences better than I could, or the moments when we didn't need sentences at all.

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I know it sounds like I'm gearing up for a Beatles song--I promise I won't start singing at you. But consider this my love-you letter to all you distant friends, chance acquaintances, people met for only a moment.

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Katrine in Paris, if by some miracle you are reading this, know that I want to be exactly like you in fifty years. Down to the way you walked, your grace, your enthusiasm, the three dogs swarming around you. You still inspire me, and I'm still grateful to you.

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And Jane in Michigan, we only talked once, but I still think about your fabulous advice. Steve and Helen, you're two of the coolest people I know. (And I'm haunted by those brownies.) Yuli knew what I needed one afternoon more than I did. Maria is one of the wisest and dearest people, not to mention a splendid cook and a lifesaver. Jen made every Sunday better that year. Karen shared scones and long chats about church. Bob believed in me long before I could. And sometimes Sarah makes me laugh so hard I almost turn inside out.

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And there are so many others... So, if you're out there, reading this, know that I'm raising this mug of coffee to you. And I hope you're happy, safe, and well. And that we somehow see each other again, soon.

a dangerous drink...

There is really something about drinking coffee out of this reinvent mug. The combination of caffeine and enterprise can be dangerous... or just really, really exciting.

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I'm still sorting throught the leftovers of my spring cleaning retreat, itching for bigger changes, and soon.

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Glancing outside my window right now, at the greening lawn, the budding magnolia, the cloudless sky... Everything spring encourages me to seize the day, seize the caffeine, seize the bold reinvent statement for myself. To turn my life into a blank page, and grab some fresh markers, paints, yarn, words, and stories to fill it.

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I'm thinking through a lot of things right now, a lot of things... Changes in my days, changes in my outlook, changes in my surroundings. Nothing is safe.

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And as for this blog? I'm working toward serious, fantastic changes for it, as well. So hold on tight, bookpie. I have more coffee in my cup, and you're on the reinvent list, too...

the quote festival, second helping

Yes, really, I'm back with more quotes. See, it's a grey day here, and in between listening to rain spattering the window and the whispering of the pine tree just outside it, I've begun to feel a little dull.

My main writing task today is building the outline for this sequel I'm working on... so far so good, but I need a little coffee, as well as a little literary caffeine.


Double remedy: French press coffee--hazelnut, with a pinch of cinnamon, oh my... wish I could pour you some--and another dip into my quote book. That, at least, I can share. Coffee and fine words are just meant to go together, aren't they?


All I desire is such letters as the heart dictates, and which the hand cannot transcribe fast enough. -- Heloise, to Abelard (... Somehow this loses its ring when you substitute emails or facebook messages or texts... Yes, Heloise, I'll still believe in letters with you.)

The person, being it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. -- Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey. (This was found first by my sister, and it makes me laugh every time!)

Pray remember me to Every body who does not enquire after me. -- Jane Austen in a letter to her sister. (Also funny. I want to say things like this when I grow up. Heck, I'd like to be Jane Austen when I grow up, but I think that's been taken...)

The significant, life-forming times are the dull, in-between times. -- Jan Karon, In This Mountain

It is a pleasant pastime to think of what might be a good kitchen for yourself. -- M.F.K. Fisher

It's hard to be religious when certain people are never incinerated by bolts of lightning. -- Bill Watterson

Of all the presentiments which some people are always having, some surely must come right. -- William Makepeace Thackeray, Vanity Fair

The fact that you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you. -- Adrienne Kress, Alex and the Ironic Gentleman

It was one thing to be all alone and facing certain death or worse at the hands of Dr. Mennus, and it was another thing to be expected to do it without coffee. -- Michael Hoeye, Time Stops for No Mouse (Can the same be said for outlining? I think so.)


Okay, I saved the biggest for last, but it's so worth it. Savor this one. It's the perfect note to get me back to my desk...

Books are never out of humour, never envious or jealous, they answer all questions with readiness; they reveal the secrets of Nature, the events of the past; they teach us how to live and how to die; they dispel melancholy by their mirth, and amuse by their wit; they prepare the soul to suffer everything and desire nothing; they introduce us to ourselves; they uphold the downcast, and restrain the conceited by warning that days are swift and life short; and all they ask in return is a quiet corner where they may be safe from the attacks of their enemies. -- Holbrook Jackson, The Anatomy of Bibliomania

They introduce us to ourselves... perhaps the loveliest thing you can say about a book.

That does it... back to the outline.

something to perk up your day

Nearly half of the pictures on my camera right now are of ... coffee. I looked through them, and it's official: I am a girl obsessed. Obsessed. (You don't believe me? Just wait.)

It's just so beautiful, though. And to me, coffee is synonymous with good conversation, with feeling at home, with my family and my dearest friends. Oh--and with the energy to tackle whatever's troubling me.

So, just in case you're the same way, here are a few cups we can share... cheers!

Oops, this first cup is full of soy chai from Companion. So, it's not coffee. But it's darn good nevertheless!! (Especially when you're surrounded by friends.) And Companion's is the best I've had.

An after-dinner cappuccino at Macaroni Grill, before taking a sip...

... and after!

Yet another mug of chai at Companion in Saint Louis. One of my new favorite places!

A morning cappuccino at Kaldi's. I was half in love with the barista after tasting this... Yum. YUM.

... and an afternoon cappuccino at Kaldi's. Surprised? Shocked? I didn't think so.

Mmmm.

PW's Dulce de Leche coffee, inspiring me to write...

... You'll never guess what all of this puts me in the mood for. Excuse me. It's suddenly very urgent that I go to the kitchen...

oh, the difference a mocha makes...

A true story, just in case you didn't believe me about my serious (serious!) need for coffee.

Me, before drinking a Kaldi's white chocolate soy latte:

What was I thinking, signing up for Nanowrimo this year? I mean, 50,000 words in a month? Who does that? Honestly, who does that? It's insane. And it's going to wreck this novel idea, too.

(Sigh. Check word count again, sullenly.)

And it's a shame to wreck a good novel idea. At least, I used to like it. Not so sure now. Are these characters even human any more? They seem to say "instead" a lot.

(Check word count again. Stare at the word count. Blink a few times.)

That's it. I think I'm going to quit. I'm allowed to quit, I didn't pay anyone for this, no one can make me finish. It's not like it's "failure," either, if I stop Nanowrimo. I mean, honestly. It's Nanowrimo. Nobody dies if I don't finish.

And maybe this year, it was a mistake. This November's pretty busy. Crazy busy. A dumb idea, really, to write fifty thousand words in such a busy month.

Yeah, it was a mistake. I can say that. I'm allowed to make mistakes, right?

It was a mistake. I'm going to quit. I'll just--tell everyone. Hey. I'm quitting. Who needs it.

I AM TOTALLY QUITTING.

...

Me, after drinking a Kaldi's white chocolate soy latte:

What a beautiful evening. This is seriously a fabulous evening!! Gorgeous.

Oh, I love my desk. This is a wonderful desk.

And here are all my characters again. HI, CHARACTERS! I love you alllll. And I love writing about you. You say the best things. You make me laugh. All this stuff about feet is truly witty.

Look, I've just revised my schedule. This is how I'm going to complete Nanowrimo on time. Why haven't I thought of it in these terms before? Look at that plan! It looks so EASY! So much fun!

I love this!

I love writing! I love my novel! I love Nanowrimo! Woo hoo!!

And now I'm going to get some more words in, and talk really fast to everyone in my family, and then clean my room, and maybe finish knitting this scarf, and then add a few more lines to this novel...

Yeah.

I wasn't kidding. Coffee is a vital part of my writing strategy. Always.

days with rain in them

It's been pouring for hours, surrounding us with that half-light that tricks you into thinking this day has no time--it's still morning, or maybe it's evening, and what does it matter?

I've reached the bottom of my mug of hazelnut coffee. Just the last, cold, bitter sips. I've been knitting this morning as I watch the rain--two new coffee sleeves, destined for our Etsy store. I love calling knitting work. Propping my feet up, knitting and purling, "oh, I'm just getting a bit of work in." Marvelous.

Now the morning has become afternoon, and I'm still lounging around, pretending to get my thoughts together... but actually I'm avoiding my writing. I spent the last two days working on a scene that was meant to take half of a day. But it kept wandering around, this scene. Skittering away, deflecting my attempts to get to its end. And then the characters would go silent and stubborn on me. So I'd chip away at it, sentence by grinding sentence.

Oof. Not my favorite way to work. I'd rather be surrounded by all their voices and unable to keep up. I finally got through Scene Terrible, and it has its moments of loveliness, I admit. Even amidst all the dangerous "the writer doesn't know how else to convey this information so she's dumping it all HERE" paragraphs. There are a few of those...

The next scenes are far more promising, but I have this sentences are hard! mindset, so I'm rainwatching instead. And taking the last sips of coffee.

Oh, and contemplating the insane: I'm doing Nanowrimo again this year, my third time. I've had good luck before, winning in 2006 and 2008. I used it to leap ahead in my drafting pace for my main novel. But this year I'm doing something different: I'm trying out a completely new idea during Nano--a middle grade manuscript I thought up during August.

It will be a juggling, chaotic month: Nanowrimo with this new idea--its feisty characters, its twisty possibilities, its hilarious names. I have no idea what will happen in it, no clue to its ending. Just a handful of characters and a sense of the tone. But I can't wait, I can't wait, it feels promising and fresh and daunting all at once.

But I'll also be planning the next huge revision of my main manuscript... annnnnd working, very slowly, on its sequel. Oh, and knitting for the Etsy store. Oh, and visiting my niece again.

That's right. That's November.

My brain feels a little full--a lot of people chattering in there, bouncing off one another, and off all my knitting ideas, my dread of the day's work, my lovely memories of family...

Reason enough to absorb the peace of falling rain today, isn't it?

But there's hot apple cider to chase me away from the windows and back to my desk, to this next scene. So I'm living from rainshower to rainshower, slow sentence to the next, mug of coffee to mug of cider. It's that sort of day.

milk + sugar + ghosts

It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of my coat and a pencil and started to write. -- Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

I had lunch at Kaldi's today, with my mom and my very pregnant sister. Conversation is always good, the paninis were lovely, and I'm a diehard fan of their Highlander Grogg coffee.

What was delightfully unexpected were the words on the wall. For the record: I love words on walls, doors, mugs, people... almost anywhere at all. And these words were the ones in the above quote by Hemingway.

Even better: when I looked at my coffee, I saw this:


And it just gets me thinking. Hemingway. Coffee. Writing in cafés...

It's supposed to be killer hot this weekend, absolutely scorching temperatures, and I find myself wanting Paris. Paris and small tables and the rain. Trench coats and the smell of newspaper, pigeons and baguettes. Lamplight dancing in puddles, and all those bridges over the Seine. (I also would not turn down a Nutella crepe, thank you very much.)

I don't especially love Hemingway, but I do love the idea of him. I like the idea of pencils and Moleskine journals and his cafe au lait. I like seeing his words hovering in my coffee, because they goad me back to my desk, to the one thing that I can have in common with my Paris daydreams:

It's the words. Always the words.

The heat will try to wither us this weekend, and a St. Louis August is a far cry from a Parisian autumn. No rain, no pigeons, no Seine. (The Mississippi? Not a shred of romance in that muddy water, not for me.)

But it's the string of words that I have to keep weaving--that rope, that web, that net. I am still spinning my story, despite everything. It's probably the only thing I have in common with Hemingway, the thing that connects me back to expatriate dreaming.

Dang.

Another day that I love and love and love being a writer. I'll take it.

knit and purl, milk and sugar

Mix knitting and coffee and I am a happy girl.

I've seen knitted coffee sleeves in magazines and shops, and thought I'd try making my own. Success!

The blue/white one and the pink/yellow were both results of our Easter egg yarn dyeing.

And as long as we're talking about knitting and coffee...

This is that mug I'm so smitten with:


Mmmm... my resolve to write today is shrinking. A dark roast and a new blanket pattern are calling instead...

i'd rather be ...

A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected. -- Jane Austen, Persuasion

It's been a wild and wonderful week.

We've had relatives visiting from Australia, and my mom's family in this area has been getting together to spend time with them, show them around Saint Louis. (Including a mini coffee tour of the area... oh, yum. And now I have new tips for scouting out coffee shops--perfect.)

You just need to meet my family to understand how fun and crazy this is.

We've started a million conversations, and left another million unfinished. Stirred up ideas (family reunion? trip to Australia? trip anywhere at all? suddenly I'm craving vacation), ate plenty of good food, snapped some hilarious candid photos. (One of my cousins has mastered the "mosquito face." We're so proud.)

So, it's been fantastic...

And how can I possibly get back to work?

I stare at my computer screen and hear all the laughter and voices from the week. I try to think of new scenes for writing Part Three, but instead wonder about new coffee blends. Self-discipline attempts a feeble comeback, but is quickly squelched by Vacation Mode, which is in full swing.

I don't know which is more dangerous: how unconcerned I am about getting my work done? Or the way I'm eyeing my savings account and thinking of swapping it for plane tickets? I hear rates are dropping...

i've got the look

Last week, my mom and I ducked into a nearby coffee shop to get some writing done. It's in one of those "quaint-main-street-shopping-for-antiques" sort of towns, but there's good coffee and tall tables and the right sort of view.

So Mom and I walk in, scoping out the table situation, running through our checklists--not too much glare or too much shadow, not too close to the music or a loud table. And I always like to have my back to a wall, or I feel like everyone who walks through the doors is trying to peer at the pages I'm drafting. (This is usually paranoia, but it's happened to Mom before.)

The girl behind the counter was watching us, and then asked "Are you from around here? Are you from New York City?"

That stopped me cold. "Uh--no, we live one town away." And drove past wheat fields and farm houses and that big lake that's emptied of its lily pads for now...

She said that she has an aunt who lives in NYC, and that we dressed like her.

I did not laugh (until later). I did not say: Have you never left this county? Instead, I looked at our clothes: both of us were wearing black. Was this unusual?

I'd also decided to be resourceful and turn a favorite tweedy skirt into a dress. But I'm not exactly known for my sophistication... especially since I seem to do half my writing while wearing pajamas. So you might confuse me with a hypochondriac, but never with a New Yorker.

"Well," I said to the girl. "We're writers. Maybe that's it. Maybe it shows."

"That's it," she said.

So now we know: there's a writerly look, and after three years of earnest pursuit, I have it! Now I just need to figure out what it was that she saw...

Dialogue bubbles floating above my head? The chorus of characters clattering along behind me? Or the sort of vague, distracted look that isn't really directed at the chalkboard of specials or the canisters of hot coffee, but is trying to squint back into my story and see what my heroine sees.

(And sometimes, it's my heroine staring back at me, trying to see past my looming face so she can order a black & white latté, or perhaps the scone of the day...)