New Writer Smell

I used to drink coffee for the fun of it.  And then I started writing professionally and discovered it was no longer fun and games.  Once I went professional writer, I had to find the right coffee. 

It became an obsession.

I used to write to relax but then I went pro.  Now I have to relax to write.  A tense writer is no good to anyone and the bean calms me down.  I know what they say, that it makes some people jumpy.  I say those people don’t need to drink it.  They’re lightweights.  Amateurs.  Soft.  They can’t handle the bean…

The smell comes off me in waves.  Scratch my skin and the aroma of Arabica will roll from my pores.

Back when I was drinking coffee just for the fun of it, any old flavor would do.  I’d just douse it with a half a cup of cream and a small shovel of sugar, anyway.  It was like a game, to see if I could get the cup to taste just exactly like melted coffee ice cream.

And I won that game every time.  Boy, was I green.

Sugary dessert coffee is fine if you’re only having one cup, but when you’re a new professional writer you can’t just have one cup.  It’s survival, sister.  You need two, three cups … a full pot if you’re nasty.  Tell your husband the decanter is off limits.  Tell your guests, hands off or they’ll pull back a nub.  It’s the mean streets and that coffee belongs to you; no light dose of café will do you.  No sugar or cream to condescend to this beast.  You need the strong stuff and you need it bad…

It’s just coffee, you say?

Tell that to the publisher waiting for your manuscript.  Tell that to the fans who want to read what you have to say.  Tell that to the bookstores, the libraries, the plain, bored co-workers who want to know how you work a full-time day job but still have energy to write and, yet, still manage to be so darned beautiful…

It’s the coffee.  The buzz.  The hum.  The dark brown goo that tastes oh, so bittersweet coating your tongue and burning its way down your throat.

Finding the right one became my obsession. 

The right coffee is a job component; as necessary as a telephone, a sheaf of paper or a keyboard.  I tried every brand on the grocery store shelves.  I ordered from a company in Washington—heck, aren’t they supposed to have the best?  I searched online reviews and ordered a special Jamaican blend from a company that claimed to have only the finest.

And I found it; the brew that keeps me going and makes me smile after the first, third and tenth cup.  The brew that relaxes me so I can get back to the hard, dirty job of writing.  Scratch my skin and you’ll smell it.  Then, step back because the sparks flying from my keyboard might strike you and set the world aflame!

Two years from now the need to consume the bean may be gone along with my newness, panic, fear and anxiety.  Maybe then I’ll be able to drink my dessert coffee again, happy with just a cup.  Maybe then I won’t want to tear someone’s head off if they look like they’re going for my special nectar.  Maybe then I’ll be glad this particular beast has been conquered.

Or maybe I’ll miss being a brand new anxious, neurotic coffee-swilling published author.  Pour me a cup and I think about it.