I really want to write, but I feel conflicted right now. I am in a Starbucks, punching away at a MAC and submitting some fiction - I am so cliche I might was well announce to the world that I'm working on my novel... oh wait I am. This cliche is literally killing me.
And I MEAN literally - this coffee is murder. Who thinks Grande Milds start slowly tasting like poison? The milk is clouding, separating from the brew - is that supposed to happen? Bubbles form around the edge (common place) but how come the steam is rising leftwards? There is no breeze - remember I am in a Starbucks... composing mediocre prose to the tune of predictable smooth jazz and easy listening for the over 30s.
No no... I won't let myself write here. I'll probably start writing a romance novel that begins with... "Gemma was a burgeoning writer at a big New York rag. She was unlucky in relationships, and had a very independent mind... she didn't need a man... at least, she thought she didn't..." etc.
