… And this week I gave in to the addiction again. I was doing so well. (Reality: I was telling myself and everyone around me I was doing well as I poured my fifth cup of black tea while quietly weeping inside.) But this Monday morning, something broke within me. I trudged into the break room, where a steaming pot cried, “Sarah, what are you doing with your life? You’re a writer, dammit! You must drink of the coffee bean!”
So I poured just a little. I’d had a rough night. I desperately needed to wake up and, you know, do my whole day-job-to-pay-the-rent-so-I-can-go-home-and-write thing. Besides, half a cup barely counts as anything, right?
It’s Thursday and I’m now back to chugging that bitter goodness every chance I get. Oh, the energy! The delightful shakes I’d missed so much! Why’d I try to get off the addiction again? Something about stomach pains and headaches? Ah, whatever!
But best of all, it’s so much easier to get started on my writing each day. There’s just something about having that coffee cup next to me — still a little too hot to drink — but promising to give me all the pretty brightness I need to power through twenty pages and make my characters shine.
Is this bad? Should my writing habits be so dependent on an outside source? I think that’s another reason I tried avoiding coffee; to see if I can write as easily on my own. And, to some extent, I could. I started my first draft of Becoming Light’s sequel this month on nothing more than a croissant and a cup of water. But it required extra brain power. I had to really fight to force myself off of Facebook and on to Pages.
When you think about it, though, we’re all dependent on food and air and water to continue doing what we love. So coffee fits under that category, right? Right????