Sep 18, 06: Public Writer
Category: Based on true events
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I read somewhere - I think it was Malcolm Gladwell that wrote it, either in New Yorker or his blog - about the benefits of being a public writer, i.e. doing his writing in a public place. Like a café.
Like me, right now.
And hey, he's onto something. There is something to be said about the image of a public writer. The creative type, the intelligent one, the thinker. Here I am!
I have my messenger bag, my iPod, my laptop, my jeans, shirt, and sweater. Geez, I look almost like the Mac guy. (But carrying a Dell, of course, like most of us Mac wannabes.)
I rode my bike (check) to Mike's Coffee (check), ordered a latte, and took the table in the back. Now, some people, like Gladwell, like to sit by the window, but in this case it was better to be in the back where everybody would see me when they walked in.
So, here I am, listening to music, checking my email, looking good. I feel the inspiration, my fingers are itching to do some dancing on the keyboard. I am The Public Writer.
Dammit.
I got nothing.
I pick another album to listen to. I change the language as well. Maybe listening to Finnish music was screwing up my English creativity.
Maybe Van Halen would get me going?
Five minutes later, I find myself gazing out the window, wondering about a jeans jacket I used to have. Or, it was a jeans vest that I would wear over my Michigan State jacket - just like Bryan Adams on the cover of Summer of '69 single. Well, not exactly, Bryan Adams had a red lumberjack shirt under the vest. I got one of those in London 1987. That's when I bought the single as well. Bought the jeans jacket/vest in Michigan in 1986. That's when I bought the 5150 album that I'm listenign to now. Yeah, good times.
Still nothing to write about. No mission. My enthusiasm is fading.
It's because I'm hungry. Must be. I wonder what Mike has on his lunch menu. I get up to see when a man walks in.
No! I see a messenger bag. He orders a latte ... he grabs a seat by the window .. he pulls a white MacBook out of his bag! Another Public Writer!
I feel a challenge. You think you're better than me, mister? I look at the other writer, he looks at me. He nods to me. I return the nod.
Let's go.
Like me, right now.
And hey, he's onto something. There is something to be said about the image of a public writer. The creative type, the intelligent one, the thinker. Here I am!
I have my messenger bag, my iPod, my laptop, my jeans, shirt, and sweater. Geez, I look almost like the Mac guy. (But carrying a Dell, of course, like most of us Mac wannabes.)
I rode my bike (check) to Mike's Coffee (check), ordered a latte, and took the table in the back. Now, some people, like Gladwell, like to sit by the window, but in this case it was better to be in the back where everybody would see me when they walked in.
So, here I am, listening to music, checking my email, looking good. I feel the inspiration, my fingers are itching to do some dancing on the keyboard. I am The Public Writer.
Dammit.
I got nothing.
I pick another album to listen to. I change the language as well. Maybe listening to Finnish music was screwing up my English creativity.
Maybe Van Halen would get me going?
Five minutes later, I find myself gazing out the window, wondering about a jeans jacket I used to have. Or, it was a jeans vest that I would wear over my Michigan State jacket - just like Bryan Adams on the cover of Summer of '69 single. Well, not exactly, Bryan Adams had a red lumberjack shirt under the vest. I got one of those in London 1987. That's when I bought the single as well. Bought the jeans jacket/vest in Michigan in 1986. That's when I bought the 5150 album that I'm listenign to now. Yeah, good times.
Still nothing to write about. No mission. My enthusiasm is fading.
It's because I'm hungry. Must be. I wonder what Mike has on his lunch menu. I get up to see when a man walks in.
No! I see a messenger bag. He orders a latte ... he grabs a seat by the window .. he pulls a white MacBook out of his bag! Another Public Writer!
I feel a challenge. You think you're better than me, mister? I look at the other writer, he looks at me. He nods to me. I return the nod.
Let's go.
hook and slice wrote: