Dear Reader,
Someone at the café called me Drama today. He was kidding, and he does that sometimes.
But I happened to be wearing llama earrings, so naturally I said something about llama drama, and for a few seconds this seemed like a perfectly reasonable use of everyone’s time.
I stand by it.
Then someone asked me where I’m going to write when the café closes.
Well.
That was considerably less fun for me and Word Raccoon.
I said I still needed to think about that one.
And I do.
It isn’t as if there are no other places in the world with tables and chairs. I own both tables and chairs. Several, in fact. There’s another café. There’s the library. There’s my sweet setup on the sun porch. There are probably places I haven’t thought of yet.
But that wasn’t quite what they were asking, was it?
They were asking where I will go.
This café has become one of the places where I know what I’m there to do. I arrive with my laptop. I order my drink, my banana berry protein bowl. I settle in. Sometimes I work on the novel. Sometimes I write poetry. Sometimes I submit things. Sometimes I spend an alarming amount of time pretending to work while researching, or WR spends time flirting with the passing wildlife, which always makes her smile and swoon. Though WR notes the neighborhood wildlife has been much scarcer lately; apparently a little rain is enough to scare it away from her neck of the woods entirely. She’s glad to see it’s still active somewhere.
Anyway, soon there will be a different place to sit down and write.
I still don’t know where that will be. For now, the café is still here.
I declare, if another coffee shop opens in that building, I think I’m out. It’s a nope for me. Nopity nope. I cannot let WR’s little heart get curb-stomped one more time by a place she loves closing.
But since they’re taking the equipment to a new location, I find it doubtful that’s what will go in next.
Have WR and I dreamed of opening a bookshop there that happens to sell tea (and fine, coffee)?
We sure have.
But the last thing our town needs is another bookshop, and I’m not even sure the building is big enough, though WR has built an annex in her mind and finished the basement and/or turned the upstairs apartment into The Attic.
She hasn’t thought of it AT ALL.
I mean, what if it became a destination bookshop? What if it held events and hosted authors and, and…
WR, you KNOW you cannot do that. For many reasons. Just because you think it would be fun does not mean it would be. You’d love it for approximately two weeks and then you’d hire someone to babysit it when you want to write.
There could be concerts on the porch again, and artwork on the walls.
But you’d have to hide some of the lovely windows, WR, to install enough bookshelves.
No, WR, I do NOT think customers would like to bend down below them to reach the bookshelves!
I’d want a new and used bookshop, anyway. With a nice big box of free books.
And oh my goodness, what if the upstairs apartment could be like Shakespeare & Company and host writers for retreats?
What, you said books would need to go up there?
Well, writers aren’t very big, are they?
I know, I know. There is no way in hell this town is big enough to support another bookshop, no matter how many frills you add to it.
But dreams are free.
Drema