The relationship between a writer and her (or his) coffee is a complex and often tempestutous one, as seen here on my online friend Coco J. Ginger’s blog:
My french press looks awfully smug today. Queenly and defiant (like myself at times), I feel like she’s mocking me for giving into her toxic consumption yet another day. She see’s what’s happening– I haven’t paid her near the amount of attention that she requires in order to keep me happy. I fill her daily with the best smelling organic coffee beans a French Press of any real class could wish for….but the last few days I’ve left the coffee to grow cold and stagnant while I write ferociously unable to recognize real life, real people or my usual object friends that entertain me daily. (Read more of Coco’s blog here)
I think such a passionate relationship with a French Press could be the subject of an opera or at least a short story. Coco’s post was actually more about writing, but it’s interesting that it should begin with coffee, as the two activities are obviously closely linked.
For another romantic look at coffee, my friend and former classmate Rachel Wright reminisces about coffee, writing and good times in Europe:
I imbibed the juice of the enchanted bean with the fervor of a religious zealot. And the pages and pages I filled with enthusiastic scrawl while I sat along the canals of Venice, sipping an espresso — those felt to me like a gift from another plane. I had met the gods, and they were highly caffeinated. All those people shaking in their pews in small, rural churches, the ones bowing down again and again and again at the Wailing Wall, the whirling dervishes spinning around and around and around in their white skirts — I felt something like that. (Read more of Rachel’s blog here)
As for me, I believe my relationship with coffee is less dramatic. It’s more of a working relationship. We work well together. The problem is stopping… Once caffienated, I will write for several hours, and even when I’m long since too tired to write, my brain will chatter away and come up with the most ridiculous ideas. “Hey, I’ve got the best idea!” my brain often says, “Wouldn’t it be cool to make a comic strip entirely about teapots? (my brain forgets that I don’t know how to draw) How about this: there’s this prince of Denmark… no, that’s been written already.” But once in a while, my brain will come up with a good idea like “How about we revise Count Morelli, that novel we wrote? It’s been sitting there waiting, and now we’re ready to get back to it.”
So the brain’s caffeine-fuelled chatter is a small price to pay for great ideas that contribute to the creation of an amazing swashbuckling novel.
One small cup for a writer, one giant novel for mankind!