Skip to main content

Writer Looking for Room to Let


Now that I bought my fancy-schmancy, portable laptop, I need a cool-schmool place to write my ever elusive novel that has yet to see the light of day.
I looked up “places where famous and filthy-rich authors” have written their novels, and it seems I have been doing it all wrong.  No wonder I have not been discovered by the powers that be. I was chained to the house using my old, trusty PC.
It seems famous authors hang out in cafés, coffee shops, and bars, and when it comes to launching their first book, they hold their debuts at these places, giving them well-deserved praise for boosting their muse.  The atmosphere at these cafés created memorable characters, the strong aroma of Colombian brew at the coffee shops evoked passionate plots, and imbibing hard liquor loosened the lexicon.  
I am looking for a cool schmool place to write my novel AND be seen by the adoring public.  I cannot afford much, so there will be no renting of solitary hotel rooms, relaxing condos on the beach, or interminable train rides with romantic vistas. 
I need some place free, like the new city library, but it is still being built.  I would stake a spot at a bookstore but try finding one of those these days, and it is not the same dragging a bean bag over from the furniture department at Walmart every day and squatting by their book and magazine section.
Someone suggested I might as well stay home.  All my resources would be readily available at my house – all the coffee I want, lots of pens and paper, free secured Wi-Fi.  I could lock myself in an empty bedroom, or sit out on the porch and enjoy the garden, or loll in bed while I dream up people and plots. 
Uh, no.  The key to this new plan is the need to be seen by the adoring public while hard at work, besides I live in the wilds, and I fear Zika and chiggers and UV rays.  And the moment I loll in bed I fall asleep.   
So I have decided to write my best-seller-about-to-be-made-into-a-movie at the Whataburger down the street.  What better place to get the juices flowing but at a local burger palace?  Think about it.  I can type away to the tantalizing smell of burgers and onions and French fries frying.  I can loosen my fingers while also loosening my belt.  I can study human nature while people decide meal choices and whether or not to go with the Fancy Ketchup or the Spicy.

When my first book and its movie rights are sold, I will hold my book launch at MY Whataburger to thank them for their muse, and to thank my adoring public for their loyalty, I will treat everyone to free fries, one small bag to each person who shows up.  The choice of ketchup will be up to them.  
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt diffe
9 comments
Read more

Teenagers: Stinky Little Extraterrestrials

Years ago, a skunk sprayed our yard during the night and the next     morning I trekked out to my car to drive to work and unknowingly stepped into the oily residue. I tracked skunk stink into my Jeep and onto the carpet in my office, a room I shared with a kind and forgiving co-worker. It took a week or two and several large cans of Lysol and air freshener to get rid of the smell. Ever since my profound Close Encounter of a Second Kind (I never saw the skunk but it left evidence of its presence), I became a skunk expert. I learned the way of the skunk. My experience imprinted itself into my hippocampus and I acquired a heightened sense of smell.  I can detect a skunk several miles away, outperforming a normal human nose that can only start to do the same at one mile. I have the same uncanny sense about adolescents.  After 30-plus years of teaching teenagers and having raised three of my own, you might say, I have reached the Close Encounter level of a Fifth Kind: I have actually
Post a Comment
Read more

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.   I sputter.   I hyperventilate.   I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties.   I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.   While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several). Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”   I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.   You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting.   Me
8 comments
Read more