I’m sure every profession is less glamorous than outsiders think. Except accounting. Accounting can’t possibly be less glamorous than it seems.
Sleazy employee I was keeping an eye on lived in a dump and walked everywhere, which meant I got to drive a piece of junk rental car and sit in a frankly frightening neighborhood so I know all his comings and goings. The dumpiness of the area also meant that popping down the block to grab a quick bite or use a clean bathroom was out. Yes, you can use the bathroom and not miss a guy leaving his apartment, if he walks everywhere.
But if there’s no bathroom, you do what you have to do. It’s not pleasant but it’s the job.
After a few hours of slowly cooling black coffee and nibbles of a lukewarm burrito, nothing happened.
See what I did there? You thought something was going to happen. You’ll need to drop that attitude if you’re going to succeed at this game.
Because most of the time, nothing happens.
If this loser wasn’t lifting vital records during his janitorial shift at a prestigious research facility, prestigious enough to pay loads to get the dirt on the dirtbag, it wouldn’t be worth the waste of time.
As it was, any move he made could be worth millions. Could, in fact, mean lives.
So, I sat. I waited.
Nothing except the coffee getting colder and my attitude struggling to keep its head above water.
I had been hoping to host a huge author event in Phoenix next spring.
I gave myself until September 1 to make a firm decision.
I can’t commit to a full-scale convention with speakers and workshops. What I can commit to is something much, much smaller: a simple meet and greet.
I’ll Be Here. Wanna Come?
… more … “The Serious Downgrading of the Phoenix Springtime Author Event”
Coffee is a wonderfully emotional smell. It’s no wonder so many people won’t go a day without it. I love it, but I keep it in its place. A cup when I want the taste, not because I need the caffeine. An espresso when I’m doing something creative. Not that can’t-get-out-of-bed-without-it relationship most people have. Watching everyone I know acting like addicts hunting a fix in the morning concerned me. Maybe I like to be different.
Maybe I used to drink a pot a day and I’m trying not to go back there.
Spending time in coffee shops was my version of an alcoholic in a bar. Usually I met in a real restaurant or even the park. I’d been known to bring a spare sandwich in order to have a quiet conversation away from flapping ears in the next booth.
This is an excerpt from That She is Made of Truth. To read the whole story, get your copy here: That She is Made of Truth.
One of the changes I’m making in my morning routine is spending 15 minutes each weekday doing something creative without being tied to the outcome; art for the fun of it.
This morning, I listened to some of the most-played tunes on my song list. But instead of background music while I did something else, I did nothing but listen, and watch the world slowly undarken through the window.
Though I know how much I love music I was surprised at how moving it was.
Another surprise: black tea has appealed to me lately. All my life I’ve had it Irish style: with milk.
The biggest surprise: black coffee. You have no idea what a leap that is for me.
Establishing new routines. Turning yet another great big corner. New year, new focus.