Bringing my work to a coffee shop (The week in writing, July 28 - August 3)

Monday & Tuesday, July 28-29, 2025:

The weekend was chaotic.

As succinctly as possible, I'll just say my wife's and my flight was delayed twelve hours and then canceled entirely. We arrived in Texas late at night, ferried by a different plane. I did not write on Saturday, and I did not write on Sunday.

Why not on Sunday? My wife and I slept in, tired from our day of travel, before entertaining family most of the time after. And why not on Saturday? I don't have a meaningful answer, other than there wasn't an obvious time supported by an intentional habit. But I had plenty of empty hours at the airport or on the plane in which I could have, theoretically, focused up. I could also have engineered a window on Sunday to write, had I woken up at a specific time with a game plan on how to get it done.

I'm still a little unclear how hard I should be on myself about all this.

I say this not to drag myself through the mud or to wallow in self-pity. I've certainly done that before, but it's not what I'm trying now. I'm trying to think of it like post-game footage review. Whether the game was won or lost, the important thing is simply to notice my mistakes. Imagine how they might have gone differently. And the more I notice, the higher my chances that these ideas stay top of mind, so that I act on them differently next time.

I did make it to a coffee shop with my wife on Monday, as well as Tuesday, and we had some fruitful writing sessions.

Wednesday, July 30, 2025:

"Do you feel like you should go?"

This was my wife asking me if I felt okay to go to a coffee shop after I said I didn't think I would throw up.

I said I'd be fine, and I mostly believed it. What I really wanted was a shower and a nap, but I felt silly for drinking too much the night before, and I felt guilty about skipping a coffee shop writing session.

"Okay..." She looked at me one more time. "Are you sure?"

We did not end up going to a coffee shop on Wednesday. I looked at my parents' dining table, and I thought a nice, quiet room with a plush carpet sounded so much more gentle than the cold, hard public. I tried to focus on writing, but my mind wandered (as did my sense of balance). I took an early shower and a nap, and I returned to the table two hours later.

While all of this was unfortunate, as far as this week's experiment was concerned, at least the lesson was straightforward – evening drinking endangers morning writing. Arguably something I should already have known. I avoided drinking for the last six months, then gave myself permission to let up a little in July, only for my own hubris to catch up to me. That, and the allure of relaxing in a pool on a hot day.

Fortunately, showers and naps are great places to come up with new ideas, and that proved true on Wednesday. I sat down with a fresh story in mind. The words themselves came rather slowly – I managed only 242 words in the first 30 minutes – but I'm trying not to judge my pace. For a long time, this was just my typical writing speed, and it's only more recently that I've found myself capable of 800, 900, 1,000+ words per hour. It all depends on the day and the material.

I'm just hoping that as long as I show up every day, these little wibbles and wobbles will even themselves out.

Thursday, July 31, 2025:

Not much happened on Thursday. I only managed twenty minutes of writing, and it was rather forced. Like squeezing the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube.

I struggled to maintain two different habits all week – not just my writing, but also my running. I couldn't do the running in the middle of the day (the highs in the Dallas area were consistently over 100 degrees), so each morning presented a difficult decision about what to prioritize. There were a few days on which I wrote but didn't run. Thursday was the opposite. I felt like I needed to get out and run, and the day swept away from there.

I'm sure it's possible to follow a regimented morning schedule while on vacation with family, given proper discipline and strategy. Possible. Theoretically.

Friday, August 1, 2025:

Friday was better. I resolved not to run, and I returned to the coffee shop with my wife. I clocked more than ninety minutes on my stopwatch (which translated to about two hours at the table), and I got a good deal done. I felt energized, at least after everything was done. It's sometimes easier to start the run, but I feel better about myself after I've written. Probably something to do with how I see myself. I'm not saying I'm going to throw away my health; I'm just noting the feeling.

I could psychoanalyze what did or didn't happen through the week and how I might have gone about it all differently, but the reality is that habits do interact with unusual environments and circumstances, and it's probably healthier to focus on the weeks ahead. I will visit family again in the future, and before that happens, I'll spend time thinking about what those circumstances will look like and how I can work around them.

I might even be okay with letting go of progress for that week. It's not like I need to write every single day for the rest of my life to create a meaningful body of work. Breaks are okay. The only reason I've had trouble with breaks is that I never intend to take them. Going into this past week, I didn't feel like I had the sort of reliable track record that would make me feel okay to take a week off. Maybe that should be my goal for the future – do so well with a consistent week to week schedule that I have no problem granting myself permission to relax awhile.

I had a conversation with my brother about marathon training, and I started daydreaming a little about life after the marathon. I might be a little burnt out on running. The idea of the marathon seemed like a big, cool thing, and it's still a milestone that I'm glad I'm pursuing. But I'm not sure it's created a life with the sort of daily rhythms that I'd like to live.

Ever since I read (and re-read) Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, I've been absorbed with imagining the ways running a marathon can parallel tackling large creative projects, like novels or screenplays. I usually think about their positive qualities, but I there might be ways in which their dangers align too. I'm often tempted to funnel as much time as I possibly can into writing or related tasks in the hopes that I will somehow make it faster. But there's danger in never taking breaks, in losing touch with friends, and in missing the kind of varied, stimulating life that makes for interesting writing in the first place. The kind of life that's worth living.

Balance. That's all.

Sunday, August 3, 2025:

I thought about titling this section "Saturday," but I shouldn't be coy – I didn't write on Saturday, and I didn't plan to. I typed this section on the flight back to LA, and that in itself was a success. I can't remember the last time I was productive on a plane.

I'd like to adjust my schedule this week, and aim for 10am Sunday releases in the future (Pacific Standard Time). As far as the next experiment, I have some schedule limitations that will prevent me from going to coffee shops in the morning. But I did enjoy the process this past week. When I was there, I got a lot done. The downside is mostly a financial one – buying coffee every day isn't necessarily wise for me.

I'd like, in the future, to "conduct" more experiments around different types of projects or stories or creativity. I could commit to working on a specific project every morning. I could commit to working a certain number of minutes on the stopwatch. But for now, shaping the habit itself is my highest priority, and I don't yet feel like I've comfortably established a robust one.

For the next two weeks, I'm challenging myself to eat breakfast and brew coffee at home, but to then take my cup of coffee to my apartment complex lobby. Maybe all I need is a new environment paired with a reward of caffeine. We'll see.

I would not yet call this blog experiment a resounding success, but that's okay. The point of trying was not to do it perfectly. The point was to be okay with doing it, even if it came out imperfect, and to trust that it might be worthwhile anyway.