Left boot first.
Right boot second.
You can’t go to work without your work boots.
I fill up a bottle of water and a cup of coffee.
I grab my keys and clip them on my belt loop.
Not one of the front loops.
I have my standards.
I remember I am a writer and a lack of funds makes sense.
I check my backpack and make sure I have all I need
Computer. Notebook. Charger. Pen. Another pen. My favorite pen. My backup pen. Headphones. Sunglasses. Calendar.
I put my hat on.
It doesn’t fit right. I haven’t found a hat that fits well.
My head is small and sometimes I wonder if that’s why I forget to finish my sentenc
I leave the house and lock the door behind me.
Unlock my car as I get closer.
Check to see if I have my phone, keys, and wallet.
Lock my car.
I always forget my wallet.
I fold it open, checking for money.
I am a writer.
Today, I am a writer.
I drive to a coffee shop while listening to a podcast.
Something about being creative.
Something that will inspire me to write the greatest book.
To focus. To put the work in. To remain dedicated.
I walk into the coffee shop with my backpack on and smile at the baristas.
We are on a first name basis.
Mike. Hudson. James. Alicia.
I've become a local.
Big talk comes later in the day.
I walk away saying something like, "I’ve got a lot of work to do” because it’s another “busy season”.
I sit down in the corner, my favorite spot.
A plug is near.
I place my computer in front of me.
Coffee to the right.
Water to the left.
Phone on the table.
Upside down. I will not be distracted today.
No one recognizes me as the guy whose pre-scheduled tweet got 1 retweet and 3 favorites and I wonder why.
I know why.
No one approaches me to ask if I’m the guy who wrote that one blog post about that one current event that is no longer relevant.
Get over yourself.
Meet and greet is over.
It’s time to write.
I don’t connect to the internet.
Today I am a writer.
And today I will write.
Write. Focus. Write. Focus. Write. Focus.
I should probably check to see if I have any new followers.
Maybe that scheduled tweet did take off.
I turn the internet on as guilt creeps like I'm six again sneaking a brownie before dinner.
But only for a minute.
Facebook. Nothing. Scroll. Like. Comment. Share. Scroll. Compare.
Twitter. Nothing. Scroll. Favorite. Retweet. Compare.
Instagram. Nothing. Double tap. Scroll. Double tap. Scroll. Compare.
Find an inspiring blog post by a professional writer.
He tells me I should be making money for my work.
According to this blog post I should have already made $100,000 this year.
That’s not why I do this, but it gives me something to mention in this line.
This line too (see the line above).
Time keeps passing and the day is slipping away.
How has it been 30 minutes?
Am I even a writer?
I’ve been here for an hour already and only written this much?
Will anyone even read this?
I just want a cinnamon roll.
Gluten weighs you down.
Does this really matter?
I hate everything. This makes no sense.
Seriously, dude? Just write.
Only one notification? Oh, it’s from her, again.
LinkedIn. Just kidding.
Today, I am a writer.