I probably should have written this on Friday, but I was too busy composing my pre-Shutdown Day entry. Had I written and posted this on Saturday, I would have been in violation of Shutdown Day and the Internet police would have locked me away in a virtual prison. ((Unfortunately for Interprison, files are easy to smuggle in; no cake required, just send it via FTP. Ba-dum-ching.)) Sunday was…well, I’d hate to ruin a perfectly good Monday with talk of this particular Sunday.
So, what’d I write at the coffee shop last week? Well, it was a short week.
Chris had conflicting plans and wasn’t able to make it to the coffee shop, so I decided that my desire to sleep past 7:30 would conflict with my writing and I bailed, too.
I started writing a script for something Chris and I are doing for The Secret Lair.
Later, I wrote an eleven hundred word short story, complete with beginning, middle and end. This is a rarity for me, as anyone who follows this blog will be aware. I won’t lie: it left me with a sense of accomplishment. But…I didn’t write it at the coffee shop, so once again it doesn’t count.
I have no idea what, if anything, I wrote on Wednesday. Yet I know for a fact that I was at the coffee shop, consumed 20 oz. of decaffeinated brew, and had my laptop. Or perhaps I was abducted by aliens. From outer space. And they stole my words.
Thursday was the first of May, so I used my time at the coffee shop to compost my annual ode to Jonathan Coulton and the joys of…interfacing in the great outdoors.
Chris wasn’t able to make it to the coffee shop so naturally I was there early, for a change. I’ve been rolling in at about 7:53 for our 7:45 session for a week and a half and the one day Chris isn’t there I show up 25 minutes early. Typical. So I fired up the iPod and wrote the aforementioned Shutdown Day post.
This week, we’re supposed to write something that we can exchange with one another for critique, so blog posts probably won’t cut it. Which means I’ve just blown a day. So typical.